•NRLF 


JENNINGS, 
FRANCES  WALDEAUX 


a 


BY 

REBECCA  HARDING  DAVIS 

If 

AUTHOR  OF  "DOCTOR  WARRICK'S  DAUGHTERS' 

ILLUSTRATED    BY 
T.  DE  THULSTRUP 


NEW     YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

1897 


BY  THE   SAME  AUTHOR. 

DOCTOR  WARRICK'S  DAUGHTERS.  A  Novel. 
By  REBECCA  HARDING  DAVIS.  Illustrated.  Post 
8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  50. 

Mrs.  Davis  has  given  her  readers  a  thoroughly  inter 
esting  story;  more  than  that,  an  absorbing  one.  There 
is  a  real  vitality  about  the  characters  and  the  situations 
that  fascinates  one. — Living  Church,  Chicago. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


Copyright,  1896,  by  HARPER  £  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 


hi 


A     REMEMBRANCER 

OF 
BRITTANY 

FOR  THE  BEST  FELLOW-TRAVELLER 
IN  THE  WORLD 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"'TO-MORROW  WE  SHALL  BE  AT   HOME*"    .      .    Frontispiece 
"HE  LED  HER  UP  TO  THE  CHAIR"      ....    Facing  p.      28 
'"YOU  CAN  CHOOSE  BETWEEN  US  "'....  "  54 

"'DO     YOU     THINK     WOLFBURGH     SCHLOSS     IS 

LIKE  THAT?'" "  112 

"'SHE  IS  DEAD.      I   DID  IT "' "  156 


FRANCES  WALDEAUX 


CHAPTER  I"" 

IN  another  minute  the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  would 
push  off  from  her  pier  in  Hoboken.  The  last 
bell  had  rung,  the  last  uniformed  officer  and 
white-jacketed  steward  had  scurried  up  the 
gangway.  The  pier  was  massed  with  people 
who  had  come  to  bid  their  friends  good-by. 
They  were  all  Germans,  and  there  had  been 
unlimited  embracing  and  kissing  and  sobs  of 
"Ach!  mein  lieber  Schatz!"  and  "  Gott  be- 
wahre  Dick  !  " 

Now  they  stood  looking  up  to  the  crowded 
decks,  shouting  out  last  fond  words.  A  band 
playing  "The  Merry  Maiden  and  the  Tar" 
marched  on  board. 

The  passengers  pressed  against  the  rails, 
looking  down.  Almost  every  one  held  flowers 
which  had  been  brought  to  them :  not  costly 
bouquets,  but  homely  bunches  of  mangolds 


or  pinks.  They  carried,  too,  little  German 
or  American  flags,  which  they  waved  fran 
tically. 

The  gangways  fell,  and  the  huge  ship  parted 
from  the  dock.  It  was  but  an  inch,  but  the 
."•whole .t)Cea*a  «yiwned  in  it  between  those  who 
w/2p.t.<and  .th.ose.^who  stayed.  There  was  a 
•sudden?  si»lefo*c6 ;  «a  thousand  handkerchiefs  flut 
tered  white  on  the  pier  and  the  flags  and 
flowers  were  waved  on  the  ship,  but  there  was 
not  a  cry  nor  a  sound. 

James  Perry,  one  of  the  dozen  Americans  on 
board,  was  leaning  over  the  rail  watching  it  all 
with  an  amused  smile.  "  Hello,  Watts  !  "  he 
called,  as  another  young  man  joined  him. 
"Going  over?  Quite  dramatic,  isn't  it?  It 
might  be  a  German  ship  going  out  of  a  Ger 
man  port.  The  other  liners  set  off  in  as  com 
monplace  a  way  as  a  Jersey  City  ferryboat, 
but  these  North  German  Lloyd  ships  always 
sail  with  a  certain  ceremony  and  solemnity.  I 
like  it." 

"  I  always  cross  on  them,"  said  Dr. 
Watts.  "  I  have  but  a  month's  vacation — two 
weeks  on  board  ship,  two  on  land.  Now  you, 
I  suppose,  don't  have  to  count  your  days  ? 


You  cross  every  year.  I  can't  see,  for  my  part, 
what  business  the  assistant  editor  of  a  maga 
zine  has  abroad." 

"  Oh,  we  make  a  specialty  of  articles  from 
notorieties  over  there ;  statesmen,  scientific 
fellows,  or  people  with  titles.  I  expect  to 
capture  a  paper  from  Lome  and  some  sketches 
by  the  Princess  Beatrice  this  time." 

"  Lome  ?  It  throws  you  into  contact  with 
that  sort, of  folk,  eh?"  said  the  doctor,  looking 
at  him  enviously.  "  How  do  they  strike  you, 
Jem?" 

"  Well,"  said  Perry  importantly,  "  well-bred 
people  are  the  same  the  world  over.  I  only 
see  them  in  a  business  way,  of  course,  but  one 
can  judge.  Their  voices  are  better  than  ours, 
but  as  to  looks — no !  It's  queer,  but  Ameri 
can  women — the  wives  and  daughters  of 
saddlers  or  farmers,  perhaps — have  more 
often  the  patrician  look  than  English  duch 
esses.  Now  there,  for  example,"  warming 
to  the  subject,  "that  woman  to  whom 
you  bowed  just  now,  the  middle-aged  one 
in  blue  cloth.  Some  Mrs.  Smith  or  Pratt, 
probably.  A  homely  woman,  but  there  is  a 
distinction  in  her  face,  a  certain  surety  of  good 


breeding,  which  is  lacking  in  the  heavy-jawed 
English  royalties." 

"  Yes ;  that  is  a  friend  of  mine,"  said  Watts. 
"  She  is  a  Mrs.  Waldeaux  from  Wier,  in  Dela 
ware.  You  could  hardly  call  her  a  typical 
American  woman.  Old  French  emigrt  family. 
Probably  better  blood  than  the  Coburgs  a 
few  generations  back.  That  priggish  young 
fellow  is  her  son.  Going  to  be  an  Episcopalian 
minister." 

Mr.  Perry  surveyed  his  friend's  friends  good- 
humoredly.  "  Brand  new  rugs  and  cushions," 
he  said.  "  First  voyage.  Heavens  !  I  wish  it 
were  my  first  voyage,  and  that  I  had  their 
appetite  for  Europe." 

"  You  might  as  well  ask  for  your  relish  of 
the  bread  and  butter  of  your  youth,"  said 
Watts. 

The  two  men  leaned  lazily  against  the  bul 
wark  watching  the  other  passengers  who  were 
squabbling  about  trunks. 

Mr.  Perry  suddenly  stood  upright  as  a  group 
of  women  passed. 

"  Do  you  know  who  that  girl  is  ? "  he  said 
eagerly.  "  The  one  who  looked  back  at  us 
over  her  shoulder." 


"  No.  They  are  only  a  lot  of  school-girls, 
personally  conducted.  That  is  the  teacher  in 
front." 

"  Of  course,  I  see  that.  But  the  short,  dark 
one — surely  I  know  that  woman." 

The  doctor  looked  after  her.  "  She  looks 
like  a  dog  turning  into  a  human  being,"  he 
said  leisurely.  "  One  often  sees  such  cases 
of  arrested  evolution.  D'ye  see  ?  Thick  lips, 
coarse  curls,  flat  nostrils " 

Perry  laughed.  "  The  eyes,  anyhow,  are 
quite  human,"  he  said.  "  They  challenge  the 
whole  world  of  men.  I  can't  place  her!" 
staring  after  her,  perplexed.  "  I  really  don't 
believe  I  ever  saw  her  before.  Yet  her  face 
brings  up  some  old  story  of  a  tragedy  or  crime 
to  me." 

"  Nonsense  !  The  girl  is  not  twenty.  Very 
fetching  with  all  her  vulgarity,  though. 
Steward,  send  some  coffee  to  my  stateroom. 
Let's  go  down,  Jem.  The  fog  is  too  chilly." 

Frances  Waldeaux  did  not  find  the  fog 
chilly.  She  had  been  thinking  for  thirty  years 
of  the  day  when  she  should  start  to  Europe — 
ever  since  she  could  think  at  all. 

This  was  the  day.     It  was  like  no   other, 


now  that  it  had  come.  The  fog,  the  crowd, 
the  greasy  smells  of  the  pier,  all  familiar 
enough  yesterday,  took  on  a  certain  remote 
ness  and  mystery.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she 
was  doing  something  which  nobody  had  ever 
done  before.  She  was  going  to  discover  the 
Old  World. 

The  New  was  not  more  tremendous  or 
unreal  before  the  eyes  of  Columbus  when  he, 
too,  stood  on  the  poop  of  his  ship. 

Her  son  was  arguing  with  the  deck  steward 
about  chairs. 

"Now,  mother,"  he  said  at  last,  "  it's  all 
right,  They  are  under  cover  so  that  the  glare 
will  not  strain  your  eyes,  and  we  can  keep  dry 
while  we  watch  the  storms." 

"  How  did  you  know  about  it  all  ?  One 
would  think  you  had  crossed  a  dozen  times, 
George." 

"  Oh,  I've  studied  the  whole  thing  up 
thoroughly,"  George  said,  with  a  satisfied  little 
nod-  "  I've  had  time  enough  !  Why,  when 
I  was  in  petticoats  you  used  to  tell  me  you 
would  buy  a  ship  and  we  would  sail  away 
together.  You  used  to  spoil  all  my  school 
map$  with  red  lines,  drawing  our  routes." 


"  Yes.  And  now  we're  going  !  "  said  Frances 
to  herself. 

He  sat  down  beside  her  and  they  watched 
the  unending  procession  of  passengers  march 
ing  around  the  deck.  George  called  her  atten 
tion  by  a  wink  to  any  picturesque  or  queer 
figure  that  passed.  He  liked  to  watch  her 
quiet  brown  eyes  gleam  with  fun.  Nobody 
had  such  a  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous  as  his 
mother.  Sometimes,  at  the  mere  remembrance 
of  some  absurd  idea,  she  would  go  off  into  soft 
silent  paroxysms  of  laughter  until  the  tears 
would  stream  down  her  cheeks. 

George  was  fond  and  proud  of  his  childish 
little  mother.  He  had  never  known  any  body, 
he  thought,  so  young  or  so  transparent.  It 
was  easily  understood.  She  had  married  at 
sixteen,  and  had  been  left  a  widow  little  more 
than  a  year  afterward.  "And  I,"  he  used  to 
think,  "  was  born  with  an  old  head  on  my 
shoulders  ;  so  we  have  grown  up  together.  I 
suppose  the  dear  soul  never  had  a  thought  in 
her  life  which  she  has  not  told  me." 

As  they  sat  together  a  steward  brought  Mrs. 
Waldeaux  a  note,  which  she  read,  blushing 
and  smiling. 


•  "  The  captain  invites  us  to  sit  at  his  table," 
she  said,  when  the  man  was  gone. 

"  Very  proper  in  the  captain,"  said  George 
complacently.  "You  see,  Madam  Waldeaux, 
even  the  men  who  go  down  in  ships  have 
heard  of  you  and  your  family !  " 

"  I  don't  believe  the  captain  ever  heard  of 
me,"  she  said,  after  a  grave  consideration,  "  nor 
of  the  Waldeaux.  It  is  much  more  likely  that 
he  has  read  your  article  in  the  Quarterly, 
George." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  But  he  stiffened  himself  up 
consciously. 

He  had  sent  a  paper  on  some  abstruse  point 
of  sociology  to  the  Quarterly  last  spring,  and 
it  had  aroused  quite  a  little  buzz  of  criticism. 
His  mother  had  regarded  it  very  much  as  the 
Duchess  of  Kent  did  the  crown  when  it  was 
set  upon  her  little  girl's  head.  She  always  had 
known  that  her  child  was  born  to  reign,  but 
it  was  satisfactory  to  see  this  visible  sign 
of  it. 

She  whispered  now,  eagerly  leaning  over  to 
him.  "  There  was  something  about  that  paper 
which  I  never  told  you.  I  think  I'll  tell  you 
now  that  the  great  day  has  come." 


"  Well  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  know — I  never  think  of  you  as 
my  son,  or  a  man,  or  anything  outside  of  me — 
not  at  all.  You  are  just  me,  doing  the  things 
I  should  have  done  if  I  had  not  been  a  woman. 
Well," — she  drew  her  breath  quickly, — "  when 

I  was  a  girl  it  seemed  as  if  there  was  some 
thing  in  me  that  I  must  say,  so  I  tried   to 
write  poems.     No,   I   never  told  you  before. 
It  had  counted  for  so  much  to  me  I  could  not 
talk  of  it.     I  always  sent  them  to  the  paper 
anonymously,    signed   '  Sidney.'     Oh,    it    was 
long — long  ago !      I've   been   dumb,   as    you 
might  say,  for  years.     But  when  I  read  your 
article,  George — do  you  know  if  I  had  written 
it  I  should  have  used  just  the  phrases  you 
did  ?     And   you    signed   it   '  Sidney  ' !  "     She 
watched  him  breathlessly.     "  That  was  more 
than  a  coincidence,  don't  you  think  ?     I  am 
dumb,   but   you   speak   for   me   now.      It    is 
because  we  are  just  one.     Don't  you  think  so, 
George  ?  "     She  held  his  arm  tightly. 

Young  Waldeaux  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 
Then  he  took  her  hand  in  his,  stroking  it. 

II  You  dear  little  woman  !     What  do  you  know 
of  sociology?"  he  said,  and  then  walked  away 


10 


to  hide  his  amusement,  muttering  "  Poems  ? 
Great  Heavens ! " 

Frances  looked  after  him  steadily.  "  Oh, 
well ! "  she  said  to  herself  presently. 

She  forced  her  mind  back  to  the  Quarterly 
article.  It  was  a  beginning  of  just  the  kind  of 
triumph  that  she  always  had  expected  for  him. 
He  would  soon  be  recognized  by  scientific  men 
all  over  the  world  as  their  confrere,  especially 
after  his  year's  study  at  Oxford. 

When  George  was  in  his  cradle  she  had 
planned  that  he  should  be  a  clergyman,  just  as 
she  had  planned  that  he  should  be  a  well-bred 
man,  and  she  had  fitted  him  for  both  roles  in  life, 
and  urged  him  into  them  by  the  same  unceas 
ing  soft  pats  and  pushes.  She  would  be  de 
lighted  when  she  saw  him  in  white  robes  serving 
at  the  altar. 

Not  that  Frances  had  ever  taken  her  religion 
quite  seriously.  It  was  like  her  gowns,  or  her 
education,  a  matter  of  course ;  a  trustworthy, 
agreeable  part  of  her.  She  had  never  once  in 
her  life  shuddered  at  a  glimpse  of  any  vice  in 
herself,  or  cried  to  God  in  agony,  even  to  grant 
her  a  wish. 

But  she  knew  that  Robert  Waldeaux's  son 


II 


would  be  safer  in  the  pulpit.  He  could  take 
rank  with  scholars  there,  too. 

She  inspected  him  now  anxiously,  trying  to 
see  him  with  the  eyes  of  these  Oxford  mag 
nates.  Nobody  would  guess  that  he  was  only 
twenty-two.  The  bald  spot  on  his  crown  and 
the  spectacles  gave  him  a  scholastic  air,  and  the 
finely  cut  features  and  a  cold  aloofness  in  his 
manner  spoke  plainly,  she  thought,  of  his 
good  descent  and  high  pursuits. 

Frances  herself  had  a  drop  of  vagabond 
blood  which  found  comrades  for  her  among 
every  class  and  color.  But  there  was  not  an 
atom  of  the  tramp  in  her  son's  well-built 
and  fashionably  clothed  body.  He  never  had 
had  a  single  intimate  friend  even  when  he  was 
a  boy.  "  He  will  probably  find  his  companions 
among  the  great  English  scholars,"  she  thought 
complacently.  Of  course  she  would  always  be 
his  only  comrade,  his  chum.  She  continually 
met  and  parted  with  thousands  of  people — 
they  came  and  went.  "  But  George  and  I  will 
be  together  for  all  time,"  she  told  herself. 

He  came  up  presently  and  sat  down  be 
side  her,  with  an  anxious,  apologetic  air.  It 
hurt  him  to  think  that  he  had  laughed  at  her. 


12 


"  That  dark  haze  is  the  Jersey  shore,"  he  said. 
"  How  dim  it  grows !  Well,  we  are  really  out 
now  in  the  big  world !  It  is  so  good  to  be 
alone  there  with  you,"  he  added,  touching  her 
arm  affectionately.  "Those  cynical  old-men- 
boys  at  Harvard  bored  me." 

"  I  don't  bore  you,  then,  George?  " 
"  You  !  "  He  was  very  anxious  to  make  her 
forget  his  roughness.  "  Apart  from  my  affec 
tion  for  you,  mother,"  he  said  judicially,  "  I 
like  you.  I  approve  of  you  as  I  never  proba 
bly  shall  approve  of  another  woman.  Your 
peculiarities — the  way  your  brown  hair  ripples 
back  into  that  knot  " — surveying  her  critically. 
"  And  the  way  you  always  look  as  if  you  had 
just  come  out  of  a  bath,  even  on  a  grimy  train  ; 
and  your  gowns,  so  simple — and  rich.  I  con 
fess,"  he  said  gravely,  "  I  can't  always  follow 
your  unsteady  little  ideas  when  you  talk.  They 
frisk  about  so.  It  is  the  difference  probably 
between  the  man's  mind  and  the  woman's. 
Besides,  we  have  been  separated  for  so  many 
years !  But  I  soon  will  understand  you.  I 
know  that  while  you  keep  yourself  apart  from 
all  the  world  you  open  your  heart  to  me." 
"Wrap  the  rug  about  my  feet,  George,"  she 


said  hastily,  and  then  sent  him  away  upon  an 
errand,  looking  after  him  uneasily. 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  hear  her  boy  thus 
formally  sum  up  his  opinion  of  her.  But  when 
he  found  that  it  was  based  upon  a  lie  ? 

For  Frances,  candid  enough  to  the  world, 
had  deceived  her  son  ever  since  he  was 
born. 

George  had  always  believed  that  she  had 
inherited  a  fortune  from  his  father.  It  gave 
solidity  and  comfort  to  his  life  to  think  of  her 
in  the  stately  old  mansion  on  the  shores  of 
Delaware  Bay,  with  nothing  to  do  except  to 
be  beautiful  and  gracious,  as  befitted  a  well 
born  woman.  It  pleased  him,  in  a  lofty,  gener 
ous  way,  that  his  father  (whom  she  had  taught 
him  to  reverence  as  the  most  chivalric  of 
gentlemen)  had  left  him  wholly  dependent 
upon  her.  It  was  a  legal  fiction,  of  course. 
He  was  the  heir — the  crown  prince.  He  had 
always  been  liberally  supplied  with  money  at 
school  and  at  Harvard.  Her  income  was  large. 
No  doubt  the  dear  soul  mismanaged  the 
estates  fearfully,  but  now  he  would  have  leisure 
to  take  care  of  them. 

Now,  the  fact  was  that  Colonel  Waldeaux 


had  been  a  drunken  spendthrift  who  had  left 
nothing.  The  house  and  farm  always  had 
belonged  to  his  wife.  She  had  supported 
George  by  her  own  work  all  of  his  life.  She 
could  not  save  money,  but  she  had  the  rarer 
faculty  of  making  it.  She  had  raised  fine  fruit 
and  flowers  for  the  Philadelphia  market ;  she 
had  traded  in  high  breeds  of  poultry  and 
cattle,  and  had  invested  her  earnings  shrewdly. 
With  these  successes  she  had  been  able  to  pro 
vide  George  with  money  to  spend  freely  at 
college.  She  lived  scantily  at  home,  never  ex 
pecting  any  luxury  or  great  pleasure  to  come 
into  her  own  life. 

But  two  years  ago  a  queer  thing  had  hap 
pened  to  her.  In  an  idle  hour  she  wrote  a 
comical  squib  and  sent  it  to  a  New  York  paper. 
As  everybody  knows,  fun,  even  vulgar  fun, 
sells  high  in  the  market.  Her  fun  was  not 
vulgar,  but  coarse  and  biting  enough  to  tickle 
the  ears  of  the  common  reader.  The  editor 
offered  her  a  salary  equal  to  her  whole  income 
for  a  weekly  column  of  such  fooling. 

She  had  hoarded  every  penny  of  this  money. 
With  it  she  meant  to  pay  her  expenses  in 
Europe  and  to  support  George  in  his  year  at 


15 


Oxford.  The  work  and  the  salary  were  to  go 
on  while  she  was  gone. 

It  was  easy  enough  to  hide  all  of  these 
things  from  her  son  while  he  was  in  Cam 
bridge  and  she  in  Delaware.  But  now?  What 
if  he  should  find  out  that  his  mother  was  the 

"  Quigg "  °f  the  New  York  ,  a  paper 

which  he  declared  to  be  unfit  for  a  gentleman 
to  read  ? 

She  was  looking  out  to  sea  and  thinking  of 
this  when  her  cousin,  Miss  Vance,  came  up  to 
her.  Miss  Vance  was  a  fashionable  teacher  in 
New  York,  who  was  going  to  spend  a  year 
abroad  with  two  wealthy  pupils.  She  was 
a  thin  woman,  quietly  dressed ;  white  hair 
and  black  brows,  with  gold  eye-glasses  bridg 
ing  an  aquiline  nose,  gave  her  a  commanding, 
inquisitorial  air. 

"  Well,  Frances !  "  she  began  briskly,  "  I 
have  not  had  time  before  to  attend  to  you. 
Are  your  bags  hung  in  your  stateroom  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  been  down  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Wal- 
deaux  meekly.  "  We  were  watching  the  fog 
in  the  sun." 

"  Fog !  Mercy  on  me  !  You  know  you 
may  be  ill  any  minute,  and  your  room  not 


16 


ready!  Of  course,  you  did  not  take  the 
bromides  that  I  sent  you  a  week  ago  ?  " 

"  No,  Clara." 

Miss  Vance  glanced  at  her.  "  Well,  just  as 
you  please.  I've  done  what  I  could.  Let  me 
look  at  your  itinerary.  You  will  be  too  ill  for 
me  to  advise  you  about  it  later." 

"  Oh,  we  made  none  !  "  said  George  gayly, 
coming  up  to  his  mother's  aid.  "  We  are 
going  to  be  vagabonds,  and  have  no  plans. 
Mother's  soul  draws  us  to  York  Cathedral, 
and  mine  to  the  National  Gallery.  That  is  all 
we  know." 

"  I  thought  you  had  given  up  that  whim  of 
being  an  artist  ? "  said  Miss  Vance,  sharply 
facing  on  him. 

Young  Waldeaux  reddened.  "  Yes,  I  have 
given  it  up.  I  know  as  well  as  you  do  that  I 
have  no  talent.  I  am  going  to  study  my  pro 
fession  at  Oxford,  and  earn  rrry  bread  by  it." 

"  Quite  right.  You  never  would  earn  it  by 
art,"  she  said  decisively.  "  How  long  do  you 
stay  in  York,  Frances  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  day,  or  a  month — or — years,  as  we 
please,"  said  Frances,  lazily  turning  her  head 
away.  She  wanted  to  set  Clara  Vance  down 


in  her  proper  place.  Mrs.  Waldeaux  ab 
horred  cousinly  intimates — people  who  run 
into  your  back  door  to  pry  into  the  state  of 
your  larder  or  your  income.  But  Miss  Vance, 
as  Frances  knew,  unfortunately  held  a  key  'to 
her  back  door.  She  knew  of  George's  wretched 
daubs,  and  his  insane  desire,  when  he  was  a 
boy,  to  study  art.  He  gave  it  up  years  ago. 
Why  should  she  nag  him  now  about  it?  By 
virtue  of  her  relationship  she  knew,  too,  all  of 
Mrs.  Waldeaux's  secrets.  It  was  most  unfor 
tunate  that  she  should  have  chosen  to  sail  on 
this  vessel. 

"  Well,  mother,"  George  said,  uneasy  to  get 
away,  "  no  doubt  Miss  Vance  is  right.  We 
should  set  things  in  order.  I  am  going  now 
to  give  my  letter  of  credit  to  the  purser  to 
lock  up  ;  shall  I  take  yours  ?  " 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  did  not  reply  at  once. 
"  No,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  like  to  carry  my 
own  purse." 

He  smiled  indulgently  as  on  a  child.  "  Of 
course,  dear.  It  is  your  own.  My  father  was 
wise  in  that.  But,  on  this  journey,  I  can  act 
as  your  paymaster,  can't  I  ?  I  have  studied 
foreign  money " 


i8 


"  We  shall  see.  I  can  keep  it  as  safe  as  any 
purser  now,"  she  said,  obstinately  shaking  her 
head. 

He  laughed  and  walked  away. 

"  You  have  not  told  him,  then  ?  "  demanded 
Clara. 

"No.  And  I  never  will.  I  will  not  hurt 
the  boy  by  letting  him  know  that  his  mother 
has  supported  him,  and  remember,  Clara,  that 
he  can  only  hear  it  through  you.  Nobody 
knows  that  I  am  '  Quigg'  but  you." 

Miss  Vance  lifted  her  eyebrows.  "  Nothing 
can  need  a  lie,"  she  quoted  calmly.  Presently 
she  said  earnestly,  "  Frances,  you  are  making 
a  mistake.  Somebody  ought  to  tell  you  the 
truth.  There  is  no  reason  why  your  whole 
being  should  be  buried  in  that  man.  He 
should  stand  on  his  own  feet,  now.  You  can 
be  all  that  he  needs  as  a  mother,  and  yet  live 
out  your  own  life.  It  is  broader  than  his 
will  ever  be.  At  your  age,  and  with  your 
capabilities,  you  should  marry  again.  Think 
of  the  many  long  years  that  are  before  you." 

"  I  have  thought  of  them,"  said  Mrs.  Wal- 
deaux  slowly.  "  I  have  had  lovers  who  came 
close  to  me  as  friends,  but  I  never  for  a 


moment  was  tempted  to  marry  one  of  them. 
No,  Clara.  When  the  devil  drove  my  father 
to  hand  me  over— innocent  child  as  I  was — to  a 
man  like  Robert  Waldeaux,  he  killed  in  me  the 
capacity  for  that  kind  of  love.  It  is  not  in 
me."  She  turned  her  strenuous  face  to  the 
sea  and  was  silent.  "  It  is  not  in  me,"  she 
repeated  after  a  while.  "  I  have  but  one  feel 
ing,  and  that  is  for  my  boy.  It  is  growing  on 
me  absurdly,  too."  She  laughed  nervously. 
"  I  used  to  be  conscious  of  other  people  in  the 
world,  but  now,  if  I  see  a  boy  or  man,  I  see 
only  what  George  was  or  will  be  at  his  age ;  if 
I  read  a  book,  it  only  suggests  what  George 
will  say  of  it.  I  am  like  one  of  those  plants 
that  have  lost  their  own  sap  and  color,  and 
suck  in  their  life  from  another.  It  scares  me 
sometimes." 

Miss  Vance  smiled  with  polite  contempt. 
No  doubt  Frances  had  a  shrewd  business 
faculty,  but  in  other  matters  she  was  not  ten 
years  old. 

"And  George  will  marry  some  time,"  she 
said  curtly. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so !  And  soon.  Then  I  shall 
have  a  daughter.  I  know  just  the  kind  of  a 


20 


wife  George  will  choose,"  she  chattered  on 
eagerly.  "  I  understand  him  so  thoroughly 
that  I  can  understand  her.  But  where  could 
he  find  her  ?  He  is  so  absurdly  fastidious  !  " 

Miss  Vance  was  silent  and  thoughtful-  a 
moment.  Then  she  came  closer.  "  I  will  tell 
you  where  to  find  her,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  I  have  thought  of  it  for  a  long  time.  It 
seems  to  me  that  Providence  actually  made 
Lucy  Dunbar  for  George." 

"  Really  ?  "  Mrs.  Waldeaux  drew  herself  up 
stiffly. 

"  Wait,  Frances.  Lucy  has  been  with  me 
for  three  years.  I  know  her.  She  is  a  sincere, 
modest,  happy  little  thing.  Not  too  clever. 
She  is  an  heiress,  too.  And  her  family  is 
good  ;  and  all  underground,  which  is  another 
advantage.  You  can  mould  her  as  you  choose. 
She  loves  you  already." 

"  Or  is  it  that  she ?  " 

"  You  have  no  right  to  ask  that !  "  said  Miss 
Vance  quickly. 

"  No,  I  am  ashamed  of  myself."  Mrs.  Wal 
deaux  reddened. 

A  group  of  girls  came  up  the  deck.  Both 
women  scanned  the  foremost  one  critically. 


21 


"  I  like  that  wholesome,  candid  look  of  her," 
said  Miss  Vance. 

"  Oh,  she  is  well  enough,"  said  Frances. 
"  But  I  am  sure  George  does  not  like  yellow 
hair.  Nothing  but  an  absolutely  beautiful 
woman  will  attract  him." 

"  An  artist,"  said  Miss  Vance  hastily, "  would 
tell  you  her  features  were  perfect.  And  her 
flesh  tints " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Clara,  don't  dissect  the 
child.  Who  is  that  girl  with  the  red  cravat  ? 
Your  maid?  " 

"  It  is  not  a  cravat,  it's  an  Indian  scarf.  If 

it  only  were  clean "  Miss  Vance  looked 

uneasy  and  perplexed.  "  She  is  not  my  maid. 
She  is  Fraulein  Arpent.  The  Ewalts  brought 
her  as  governess  from  Paris,  don't  you  remem 
ber?  They  sent  the  girls  to  Bryn  Mawr  last 
week  and  turned  her  adrift,  almost  penniless. 
She  wished  to  go  back  to  France.  I  engaged 
her  as  assistant  chaperone  for  the  season." 

Mrs.  Waldeaux's  eyebrows  went  up  signifi 
cantly.  She  never  commented  in  words  on  the 
affairs  of  others,  but  her  face  always  was  indis 
creet.  George,  who  had  come  up  in  time  to 
hear  the  last  words,  was  not  so  scrupulous. 


22 


He  surveyed  the  young  woman  through  his 
spectacles  as  she  passed  again,  with  cold  dis 
approval. 

"  French  or  German  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  really  don't  know.  She  has  a  singular 
facility  in  tongues,"  said  Miss  Vance. 

"  Well,  that  is  not  the  companion  7  should 
have  chosen  for  those  innocent  little  girls,"  he 
said  authoritatively,  glad  to  be  disagreeable  to 
his  cousin.  "  She  looks  like  a  hawk  among 
doves." 

"  The  woman  is  harmless  enough,"  said  Miss 
Vance  tartly.  "  She  speaks  exquisite  French." 

"But  what  does  she  say  in  it?  "  persisted 
George.  "  She  is  vulgar  from  her  red  pompon 
to  her  boots.  She  has  the  swagger  of  a  sou- 
brette  and  she  has  left  9.  trail  of  perfume  be 
hind  her— pah  !  I  confess  I  am  surprised  at 
you,  Miss  Vance.  You  do  not  often  slip  in 
your  judgment." 

"  Don't  make  yourself  unpleasant,  George," 
said  his  mother  gently.  Miss  Vance  smiled 
icily,  and  as  the  girls  came  near  again,  stopped 
them  and  stood  talking  to  Mile.  Arpent  with 
an  aggressive  show  of  familiarity. 

"  Why   do    you   worry   Clara  ? "   said   Mrs. 


Waldeaux.  "  She  knows  she  has  made  a  mis 
take.  What  do  you  think  of  that  little  blonde 
girl?"  she  asked  presently,  watching  him 
anxiously.  "  She  has  remarkable  beauty, 
certainly;  but  there  is  something  finical — 
precise " 

"  Take  care.  She  will  hear  you,"  said 
George.  "  Beauty,  eh  ?  Oh,  I  don't  know," 
indifferently.  "  She  is  passably  pretty.  I 
have  never  seen  a  woman  yet  whose  beauty 
satisfied  me" 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  leaned  back  with  a  comfort 
able  little  laugh.  "  But  you  must  not  be  so 
hard  to  please,  my  son.  You  must  bring  me 
my  daughter  soon,"  she  said. 

"  Not  very  soon.  I  have  some  thing  else 
to  think  of  than  marriage  for  the  next  ten 
years." 

Just  then  Dr.  Watts  came  up  and  asked 
leave  to  present  his  friend  Perry.  The  doctor, 
like  all  young  men  who  knew  Mrs.  Waldeaux, 
had  succumbed  to  her  peculiar  charm,  which 
was  only  that  of  a  woman  past  her  youth  who 
had  strong  personal  magnetism  and  not  a 
spark  of  coquetry.  George's  friends  all  were 
sure  that  they  would  fall  in  love  with  a  woman 


24 


just  like  her — but  not  a  man  of  them  ever 
thought  of  falling  in  love  with  her. 

Young  Perry,  in  twenty  minutes,  decided 
that  she  was  the  most  brilliant  and  agreeable 
of  companions.  He  had  talked,  and  she  had 
spoken  only  with  her  listening,  sympathetic 
eyes.  He  was  always  apt  to  be  voluble.  On 
this  occasion  he  was  too  voluble. 

"  You  are  from  Weir,  I  think,  in  Delaware, 
Mrs.  Waldeaux?"  he  asked.  "I  must  have 
seen  the  name  of  the  town  with  yours  on 
the  list  of  passengers,  for  the  story  of  a 
woman  who  once  lived  there  has  been  haunt 
ing  me  all  day.  I  have  not  seen  nor  thought 
of  her  for  years,  and  I  could  not  account  for 
my  sudden  remembrance  of  her." 

"  Who  was  she  ?  "  asked  George,  trying  to 
save  his  mother  from  Perry,  who  threatened 
to  be  a  bore. 

"  Her  name  was  Pauline  Felix.  You  have 
heard  her  story,  Mrs.  Waldeaux  ?  " 

"  Yes  "  said  Frances  coldly.  "  I  have  heard 
her  story.  Can  you  find  my  shawl,  George  ?  " 

But  Perry  was  conscious  of  no  rebuff,  and 
turned  cheerfully  to  George.  "  It  was  one  of 
those  dramas  of  real  life,  too  unlikely  to  put 


into  a  novel.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  poor 
clergyman  in  Weir,  a  devout,  good  man,  I 
believe.  She  had  marvellous  beauty  and  a  dev 
ilish  disposition.  She  ran  away,  lived  a  wild 
life  in  Paris,  and  became  the  mistress  of  a  Rus 
sian  Grand  Duke.  Her  death " 

He  could  not  have  told  why  he  stopped. 
Mrs.  Waldeaux  still  watched  him,  attentive, 
but  the  sympathetic  smile  had  frozen  into  icy 
civility.  She  had  the  old-fashioned  modesty 
of  her  generation.  What  right  had  this  young 
man  to  speak  of  "  mistresses  "  to  her?  Clara's 
girls  within  hearing  too !  She  rose  when  he 
paused,  bowed,  and  hurried  to  them,  like  a  hen 
fluttering  to  protect  her  chicks. 

"  He  was  talking  to  me  of  a  woman,"  she 
said  excitedly  to  Clara,  "who  is  never  men 
tioned  by  decent  people." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  him,"  said  Miss  Vance.  "  Poor 
Pauline  !  Her  career  was  always  a  mystery  to 
me.  I  was  at  school  with  her,  and  she  was  the 
most  generous,  lovable  girl !  Yet  she  came  to 
a  wretched  end,"  turning  to  her  flock,  her  tone 
growing  didactic.  "  One  is  never  safe,  you 
see.  One  must  always  be  on  guard." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  ! "  cried  Frances  impatiently. 


26 


"  You  surely  don't  mean  to  class  these  girls 
and  me  with  Pauline  Felix  !  Come,  come  !  " 

"  None  of  us  is  safe,"  repeated  Clara  stiffly. 
"  Somebody  says  there  is  a  possible  vice  in  the 
purest  soul,  and  it  may  lie  perdu  there  until 
old  age.  But  it  will  break  out  some  day." 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  looked,  laughing,  at  the 
eager,  blushing  faces  around  her.  "  It  is  not 
likely  to  break  out  in  us,  girls,  eh  !  Really, 
Clara,"  she  said,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  that  seems 
to  me  like  wasted  morality.  Women  of  our 
class  are  in  no  more  danger  of  temptation  to 
commit  great  crimes  than  they  are  of  finding 
tigers  in  their  drawing-rooms.  Pauline  Felix 
was  born  vicious.  No  woman  could  fall  as  she 
did,  who  was  not  rotten  to  the  core." 

A  sudden  shrill  laugh  burst  from  the  French 
woman,  who  had  been  looking  at  Mrs.  Wal 
deaux  with  insolent,  bold  eyes.  But  as  she 
laughed,  her  head  fell  forward  and  she  swung 
from  side  to  side. 

"It  is  nothing," •  she  cried,  "I  am  only  a 
little  faint.  I  must  go  below." 

The  ship  was  now  crossing  short,  choppy 
waves.  The  passengers  scattered  rapidly. 
George  took  his  mother  to  her  stateroom,  and 


there  she  stayed  until  land  was  sighted  on 
the  Irish  coast.  Clara  and  her  companions 
also  were  forced  to  keep  to  their  berths. 

During  the  speechless  misery  of  the  first 
days  Mrs.  Waldeaux  was  conscious  that  George 
was  hanging  over  her,  tender  as  a  mother  with 
a  baby.  She  commanded  him  to  stay  on 
deck,  for  each  day  she  saw  that  he,  too,  grew 
more  haggard.  "  Let  me  fight  it  out  alone," 
she  would  beg  of  him.  "  My  worst  trouble  is 
that  I  cannot  take  care  of  you." 

He  obeyed  her  at  last,  and  would  come 
down  but  once  during  the  day,  and  then  for 
only  a  few  hurried  minutes.  His  mother  was 
alarmed  at  the  ghastliness  of  his  face  and  the 
expression  of  anxious  wretchedness  new  to  it. 
"  His  eye  avoids  mine  craftily,  like  that  of  an 
insane  man,"  she  told  herself,  and  when  the 
doctor  came,  she  asked  him  whether  sea-sick 
ness  affected  the  brain. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  voyage  the  breeze 
was  from  land,  and  with  the  first  breath  of  it 
Frances  found  her  vigor  suddenly  return. 
She  rose  and  dressed  herself.  George  had  not 
been  near  her  that  day.  "  He  must  be  very 
ill,"  she  thought,  and  hurried  out.  "  Is  Mr. 


28 


Waldeaux  in  his  stateroom  ?  "  she  asked  the 
steward. 

^No,  madam.  He  is  on  deck.  All  the  pas 
sengers  are  on  deck,"  the  man  added,  smiling. 
"  Land  is  in  sight." 

Land !  And  George  had  not  come  to  tell 
her !  'He  must  be  desperately  ill ! 

She  groped  up  the  steps,  holding  by  the 
brass  rail.  "  I  will  give  him  a  fine  surprise !  " 
she  said  to  herself.  "  I  can  take  care  of  him, 
now.  To-night  we  shall  be  on  shore  and  this 
misery  all  over.  And  then  the  great  joy  will 
begin ! " 

She  came  out  on  deck.  The  sunshine  and 
cold  pure  wind  met  her.  She  looked  along 
the  crowded  deck  for  her  invalid.  Every- 
body  was  in  holiday  clothes,  every-body  was 
smiling  and  talking  at  once.  Ah !  there 
he  was! 

He  was  leaning  over  Frances'  steamer  chair, 
on  which  a  woman  lay  indolently.  He  was  in 
rude  health,  laughing,  his  face  flushed,  his 
eyes  sparkling. 

Looking  up,  he  saw  his  mother  and  came 
hastily  to  meet  her.  The  laugh  was  gone. 
11  So  you  came  up  ?  "  he  said  impatiently.  "  I 


i 


29 


would  have  called  you  in  time.  I 

Mother  !  "  He  caught  her  by  the  arm.  "  Wait, 
I  must  see  you  alone  for  a  minute."  Urged 
by  the  amazed  fright  in  her  face,  he  went  on 
desperately,  "  I  have  something  to  tell  you.  I 
intended  to  break  it  to  you.  I  don't  want  to 
hurt  you,  God  knows.  But  I  have  not  been 
idle  in  these  days.  I  have  found  your  daughter. 
She  is  here." 

He  led  her  up  to  the  chair.  The  girl's  head 
was  wrapped  in  a  veil  and  turned  from  her. 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  held  out  her  hands.  "  Lucy ! 
Lucy  Dunbar !  "  she  heard  herself  say. 

"Mais  non  !  C'est  moi  !  "  said  a  shrill  voice, 
and  Mile.  Arpent,  turning  her  head  lazily, 
looked  at  her,  smiling. 


CHAPTER  II 

CLARA  VANCE  had  her  faults,  but  nobody 
could  deny  that,  in  this  crisis,  she  acted  with 
feeling  and  tact.  She  ignored  mademoiselle 
and  her  lover,  whose  bliss  was  in  evidence  on 
deck  all  day,  and  took  possession  of  Mrs. 
Waldeaux,  caring  for  her  as  tenderly  as  if  she 
had  been  some  poor  wretch  sentenced  to 
death.  "  She  has  no  intellect  left  except  her 
ideas  about  George,"  she  told  herself,  "  and  if 

he  turns  his  back  on  her  for  life  in  this  way 

She  never  was  too  sane  ! "  shaking  her  head 
ominously. 

She  thought  it  best  to  talk  frankly  of  the 
matter  to  little  Lucy  Dunbar,  and  was  relieved 
to  find  her  ready  to  joke  and  laugh  at  it. 
"  No  bruise  in  that  tender  heart ! "  thought 
Clara,  who  was  anxious  as  a  mother  for  her 
girls. 

"  We  all  worshipped  Mr.  George,"  said  Lucy 
saucily.  "  I,  most  of  all.  He  is  so  cold,  so 
exalted  and  ah — h,  so  good-looking  !  Like  a 


Greek  god.  But  he  never  gave  a  look  to  poor 
little  me !  The  fraulein  came  on  deck  as 
soon  as  we  all  went  down  with  sea-sickness, 
and  bewitched  him  with  her  eyes.  It  must 
have  been  her  eyes  ;  they  are  yellow — witch's 
eyes.  Or  maybe  that  cheap  smell  about  her 
is  a  love-philter !  Or  was  it  just  soul  calling 
to  soul  ?  I  should  have  said  the  fraulein  had 
the  soul  of  a  milliner.  She  put  great  ideas 
into  the  hat  that  she  altered  for  me,"  Lucy 
added,  with  an  unsteady  laugh. 

"  I  care  nothing  for  them  or  their  souls," 
said  Miss  Vance  crossly.  "  It  is  his  mother 
that  I  think  of." 

"  But  really,"  said  Lucy,  "  mademoiselle  is 
quite  raw  material.  No  ideas — no  manners 
whatever.  Mrs.  Waldeaux  may  mould  her  into 
something  good  and  fine." 

"  She  will  not  try.  She  will  never  accept 
that  creature  as  a  daughter." 

"  She  seems  to  me  to  be  indifferent,"  said 
Lucy.  "  She  does  not  see  how  terrible  it  is. 
She  was  leaning  over  the  bulwark  just  now, 
laughing  at  the  queer  gossoons  selling  their 
shillalahs." 

"  Oh,    she    will    laugh    at    Death    himself 


when  he  comes  to  fetch  her,  and  see  some 
thing  *  queer '  in  him,"  said  Clara. 

But  her  little  confidence  with  Lucy  had 
relieved  her.  The  child  cared  nothing  for 
George,  that  was  plain. 

Mademoiselle,  watching  Mrs.  Waldeaux 
closely  all  day,  was  not  deceived  by  her  laugh. 
"  The  old  lady,  your  mother,"  she  said  to 
George,  "  is  what  you  men  call  '  game.'  She 
has  blood  and  breeding.  More  than  you,  mon 
sieur.  That  keeps  her  up.  I  did  not  count 
on  that,"  said  the  young  woman  thoughtfully. 

George  took  off  his  glasses  and  rubbed  them 
nervously  as  he  talked.  "  I  don't  understand 
my  mother  at  all !  She  has  always  been  very 
considerate  and  kind.  I  never  thought  that 
she  would  receive  my  wife,  when  I  brought  her 
to  her,  with  calm  civility.  Not  a  kiss  nor  a 
blessing !  " 

"A  kiss?  A  blessing  for  me?"  Lisa 
laughed  and  nodded  meaningly  to  the  sea  and 
world  at  large.  "  She  could  hardly  have 
blessed  a  woman  lolling  full  length  in  her 
chair,"  she  thought.  "  It  is  her  chair.  And  I 
have  unseated  her  for  life  !  "  curling  herself 
up  in  the  rugs. 


33 


Yet  she  had  a  twinge  of  pity  for  the  old 
lady.  Even  the  wild  boar  has  its  affections 
and  moments  of  gentleness.  A  week  ago  Lisa 
could  have  trampled  the  life  out  of  this  woman 
who  had  slandered  her  dead  mother,  with  the 
fury  of  any  wild  beast. 

For  she. was  Pauline  Felix's  daughter.  It  was 
her  mother's  name  that  Mrs.  Waldeaux  had 
said  could  not  be  spoken  by  any  decent  woman. 
Lisa  had  been  but  a  child,  but  she  had  held 
her  mother's  head  close  to  her  stout  little  heart 
as  she  lay  dying — that  awful  mysterious  death 
of  which  the  young  man  had  tried  to  make  a 
telling  story.  The  girl  crossed  herself  now 
and  closed  her  tired  eyes  as  she  thought  of  it. 
She  had  been  a  wicked  child  and  a  wicked 
woman,  but  she  knew  certainly  that  the 
Virgin  and  her  Son  had  come  near  to  her  that 
day,  and  had  helped  her. 

George,  who  was  poring  fondly  on  her  face, 
exclaimed  :  "  Your  eyes  are  wet.  You  are  in 
trouble ! " 

"I  was  thinking  of  my  mother,"  she  said 
gently,  holding  out  her  hand  to  him. 

He  took  it  and  said  presently,  "  Will  you 
not  talk  to  me  about  her,  Lisa?  You  have 
3 


34 


not  told  me  any  thing  of  your  people,  my 
darling.  Nor  of  yourself.  Why,  I  don't  even 
know  whether  you  are  French  or  German." 

"  Oh,  you  shall  hear  the  whole  story  when 
we  are  married,"  she  replied  softly,  a  wicked 
glitter  in  her  eyes.  "  Some  of  the  noblest 
blood  in  Europe  is  in  my  veins.  I  will  give 
you  my  genealogical  tree  to  hang  up  in  that 
old  homestead  of  yours.  It  will  interest  the 
people  of  Weir — and  please  your  mother." 

"  It  is  good  in  you  to  think  of  her,"  he  said, 
tenderly  looking  down  at  her. 

He  was  not  blind.  He  saw  the  muddy  skin, 
the  thick  lips,  the  soiled,  ragged  lace.  They 
would  have  disgusted  him  in  another  woman. 

But  this  was — Lisa.  There  was  no  more  to 
be  said. 

These  outside  trifles  would  fall  off  when  she 
came  into  his  life.  Even  with  them  she  was 
the  breath  and  soul  of  it. 

She  saw  the  difference  between  them  more 
sharply  than  he  did.  She  had  been  cast  for  a 
low  part  in  the  play,  and  knew  it.  Sometimes 
she  had  earned  the  food  which  kept  her  alive 
in  ways  of  which  this  untempted  young  priest 
had  never  even  heard.  There  was  something 


35 


in  this  clean  past  of  his,  in  his  cold  patrician 
face  and  luxurious  habits  new  to  her,  and  she 
had  a  greedy  relish  for  it  all. 

She  had  been  loved  before,  caressed  as  men 
caress  a  dog,  kicking  it  off  when  it  becomes 
troublesome.  George's  boyish  shyness,  his 
reverent  awe  of  her,  startled  her. 

"He  thinks  Lisa  Arpent  a  jeune  fille — like 
these  others.  A  little  white  rose !  "  she  thought, 
and  laughed.  She  would  not  tell  him  why 
she  laughed,  and  muttered  an  oath  when  he 
stupidly  insisted  on  knowing. 

He  was  the  first  lover  who  had  ever  believed 
in  her. 

She  had  begun  this  affair  simply  to  punish 
the  "  old  woman  ";  the  man  in  it  had  counted 
for  nothing.  But  now,  as  they  crossed  the 
gangway,  she  looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  that 
for  the  moment  were  honest  and  true  as  a 
child's,  and  her  firm  hand  suddenly  trembled 
in  his. 

Three  weeks  later  Mrs.  Waldeaux  came  into 
Miss  Vance's  little  parlor  on  Half  Moon  Street. 
Her  face  was  red  from  the  wind,  her  eyes 
sparkled,  and  she  hummed  some  gay  air  which 


an  organ  ground  outside.  Clara  laid  down  her 
pen. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Frances?  It  is  a 
week  since  I  saw  you." 

"  Oh,  everywhere  !  George  has  been  show 
ing  me  London  !  "  She  sat  down  before  the 
fire  with  a  gurgle  of  comfort  and  dropped  her 
bonnet  and  gloves  on  the  floor  beside  her. 
"  Yesterday  we  spent  at  the  Museum.  George 
explained  the  Elgin  marbles  to  me.  I  don't 
suppose  any  body  in  London  has  studied  their 
history  so  thoroughly.  I  did  wish  you  could 
have  heard  him.  And  the  day  before  I  was  at 
the  House — in  the  ladies'  gallery.  I  can't 
imagine  how  he  got  admission  for  me.  He  is 
so  clever ! " 

"  We  are  going  down  to  Canterbury  for  a 
couple  of  days,'"  said  Clara.  "  We  start  at 
noon.  Will  you  go  with  us?" 

"  No,  I  think  not.  George  does  not  seem  to 
care  for  cathedrals.  And  he  has  plans  for  me, 
no  doubt." 

Miss  Vance  brushed  the  bonnet  and  carefully 
rolled  up  the  strings.  "  Are  you  satisfied  ?  Is 
London  the  London  you  have  been  thinking  of 
these  twenty  years  ?"  she  asked. 


37 


"  Oh,  a  thousand  times  more  !  And  George 
has  been  with  me  every  day — every  day ! " 

Miss  Vance  picked  up  the  gloves,  looking 
impatiently  at  the  poor  lady's  happy  face. 
"  Now  she  has  gone  off  into  one  of  her  silly 
transports  of  delight,  and  for  no  earthly 
reason ! " 

"  I  noticed  that  George  has  seen  very  little 
of  Lisa  lately,"  she  said  tentatively.  "  If  he 
really  means  to  marry  her " 

"  Marry  her !  Clara !  You  surely  never 
feared  that  f  " 

"  He  certainly  told  us  plainly  enough  that 
he  would  do  it,"  said  Miss  Vance  testily. 

11  Oh,  you  don't  understand  him  !  You  have 
had  so  little  to  do  with  young  men.  They  are 
all  liable  to  attacks  like  that — as  to  measles 
and  scarlet  fever.  But  they  pass  off.  Now, 
George  is  not  as  susceptible  as  most  of  them. 
But,"  lowering  her  voice,  "  he  was  madly  in 
love  with  the  butcher's  Kate  when  he  was  ten, 
and  five  years  afterward  offered  to  marry  the 
widow  Potts.  I  thought  he  had  outgrown  the 
disease.  There  has  been  nothing  of  the  kind 
since,  until  this  fancy.  It  is  passing  off.  Of 
course  it  is  mortifying  enough  to  think  that 


such  a  poor  creature  as  that  could  attract  him 
for  an  hour." 

"  I  was  to  blame/'  Miss  Vance  said,  with  an 
effort.  "  I  brought  her  in  his  way.  But  how 
was  I  to  know  that  she  was  such  a  cat,  and  he 
such If  he  should  marry  her " 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  laughed  angrily.  "  You  are 
too  absurd,  Clara.  A  flirtation  with  such  a 
woman  was  degrading  enough,  but  George  is 
not  quite  mad.  He  has  not  even  spoken  of 
her  for  days.  Oh,  here  he  comes !  That  is 
his  step  on  the  stairs."  She  ran  to  the  door. 
"  He  found  that  I  was  out  and  has  followed 
me.  He  is  the  most  ridiculous  mother's  boy  ! 
Well,  George,  here  I  am  !  Have  you  thought 
of  something  new  for  me  to  see  ?  "  She  glanced 
at  Miss  Vance,  well  pleased  that  she  should 
see  the  lad's  foolish  fondness  for  her. 

George  forced  a  smile.  He  looked  worn 
and  jaded.  Miss  Vance  noticed  that  his 
usually  neat  cravat  was  awry  and  his  hands 
were  gloveless.  "Yes,"  he  said.  "It  is  a  lit 
tle  church.  The  oldest  in  London.  I  want 
to  show  it  to  you." 

Miss  Vance  tied  on  Mrs.  Waldeaux's  bonnet, 
smoothing  her  hair  affectionately.  "  There 


39 


are  too  many  gray  hairs  here  for  your  age, 
Frances,"  she  said.  "  George,  you  should  keep 
your  mother  from  worry  and  work.  Don't  let 
her  hair  grow  gray  so  soon." 

George  bowed.  "  I  hope  I  shall  do  my 
duty,"  he  said,  with  dignity.  "  Come,  mother." 

As  they  drove  down  Piccadilly  Mrs.  Wal- 
deaux  chattered  eagerly  to  her  son.  She  could 
not  pour  out  her  teeming  fancies  about  this 
new  world  to  any  body  else,  but  she  could  not 
talk  fast  enough  to  him.  Had  they  not  both 
been  waiting  for  a  lifetime  to  see  this  London? 

"  The  thing,"  she  said  earnestly,  as  she  set 
tled  herself  beside  him,  "  the  thing  that  has 
impressed  me  most,  I  think,  were  those  great 
Ninevite  gods  yesterday.  I  sat  for  hours  be 
fore  them  while  you  were  gone.  There  they 
sit,  their  hands  on  their  knees,  and  stare  out 
of  their  awful  silence  at  the  London  fog,  just 
as  they  stared  at  the  desert  before  Christ  was 
born.  I  felt  so  miserably  young  and  sham  !  " 

George  adjusted  his  cravat  impatiently. 
"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  quite  follow  you,  mother. 

These  little  flights  of  yours They  belong 

to  your  generation,  I  suppose.  It  was  a  more 
sentimental  one  than  mine.  You  are  not  very 


40 


young.  And  you  certainly  are  not  a  sham. 
The  statues  are  interesting,  but  I  fail  to  see 
why  they  should  have  had  such  an  effect 
upon  you." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Frances.  "  But  you  did  not  stay 
alone  with  them  as  long  as  I  did,  or  you  would 
have  felt  it  too.  Now  I  am  sure  that  the  de 
bates  in  Parliament  impressed  you  just  as  they 
did  me?" 

George  said  nothing,  but  she  went  on  eagerly. 
It  never  occurred  to  her  that  he  could  be 
bored  by  her  impressions  in  these  greatest 
days  of  her  life.  "  To  see  a  half-dozen  well- 
groomed  young  men  settle  the  affairs  of  India 
and  Australia  in  a  short,  indifferent  colloquy  ! 
How  shy  and  awkward  they  were,  too  !  They 
actually  stuttered  out  their  sentences  in  their 
fear  of  posing  or  seeming  pretentious.  So 
English !  Don't  you  think  it  was  very  Eng 
lish,  George?" 

"  I  really  did  not  f%ink  about  it  at  all. 
I  have  had  very  different  things  to  occupy 
me,"  said  George,  coldly  superior  ;to  all 
mothers  and  Parliaments.  "  This  is  the 
church." 

The  cab  stopped  before  an  iron  door  between 


two  shops  in  the  most  thronged  part  of  Bish- 
opsgate  Street.  He  pushed  it  open,  and  they 
passed  suddenly  out  of  the  hurrying  crowd 
into  the  solemn  silence  of  an  ancient  dingy 
building.  A  dim  light  fell  through  a  noble 
window  of  the  thirteenth  century  upon  cheap 
wooden  pews.  The  church  was  empty,  and 
had  that  curious  significance  and  half-spoken 
message  of  its  own  which  belongs  to  a  vacant 
house. 

"  I  remember,"  whispered  Frances,  awe 
struck.  "  This  was  built  by  the  first  Christian 
convert,  St.  Ethelburga." 

"  You  believe  every  thing,  mother !  "  said 
George  irritably. 

She  wandered  about,  looking  at  the  sombre 
walls  and  inscriptions,  and  then  back  uneasily, 
to  his  moody  face. 

Suddenly  she  came  up  to  him  as  he  stood 
leaning  against  a  pillar.  "  Something  has 
happened  !  "  she  saitf.  "  You  did  not  bring 
me  here  to  look  at  the  church.  You  have 
something  to  tell  me." 

The  young  man  looked  at  her  and  turned 
away.  "Yes,  I  have.  It  isn't  a  death,"  he 
said,  with  a  nervous  laugh.  "You  need  not 


42 


look  in  that  way.  It  is — something  very  dif 
ferent.  I — I  was  married  in  this  church 
yesterday  to  Lisa  Arpent." 

Frances  did  not  at  first  comprehend  the 
great  disaster  that  bulked  black  across  her 
whole  life,  but,  woman-like,  grasped  at  a  frag 
ment  of  it. 

"  You  were  married  and  I  was  not  there ! 
Yesterday  !  My  boy  was  married  and  he  for 
got  me ! " 

"  Mother  !  Don't  look  like  that !  Here,  sit 
down,"  grabbing  her  helplessly  by  the  arms. 
"  I  didn't  want  to  hurt  you.  I  brought  you 
here  to  tell  you  quietly.  Cry!  Why  don't 
you  cry  if  you're  worried !  Oh !  I  believe 
she's  dying !  "  he  shouted,  staring  around  the 
empty  church. 

She  spoke  at  last. 

"  You  were  married  and  I  couldn't  say  God 
bless  you !  You  forgot  me !  I  never  forgot 
you,  George,  for  one  minute  since  you  were 
born." 

"Mother,  what  fool  talk  is  that?  I  only 
didn't  want  a  scene.  I  kept  away  from  Lisa 
for  weeks  so  as  not  to  vex  you.  Forget  you ! 
I  think  I  have  been  very  considerate  of  you 


43 

under  the  circumstances.     You  have  a  dislike 
to  Lisa,  a  most  groundless  dislike " 

"  Oh,  what  is  Lisa  ?  "  said  Frances  haughtily. 
"  It  is  that  you  have  turned  away  from  me. 
She  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  relation 
between  you  and  me.  How  can  any  woman 
come  between  me  and  my  son?  "  She  held  up 
her  hands.  "  Why,  you  are  my  boy,  Georgy. 
You  are  all  I  have !  " 

He  looked  at  the  face,  curiously  pinched 
and  drawn  as  if  by  death,  that  was  turned  up 
to  his,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently. 
"  Now  this  is  exactly  what  I  tried  to  escape 
yesterday.  Am  I  never  to  be  a  man,  nor  have 
the  rights  of  a  man?  You  must  accept  the 
situation,  mother.  Lisa  is  my  wife,  and  dearer 
to  me  than  all  the  world  beside." 

He  saw  her  lips  move.  "Dearer?  Dearer 
than  me ! " 

She  sat  quite  still  after  that,  and  did  not 
seem  to  hear  when  he  spoke.  Something  in 
her  silence  frightened  him.  She  certainly  had 
been  a  fond,  indulgent  mother,  and  he  perhaps 
had  been  abrupt  in  cutting  the  tie  between 
them.  It  must  be  cut.  He  had  promised 
Lisa  the  whole  matter  should  be  settled  to-day. 


44 


But  his  mother  certainly  was  a  weak  woman, 
and  he  must  be  patient  with  her.  Secretly 
he  approved  the  manliness  of  his  patience. 

"The  cab  is  waiting,  dear,"  he  said.  She 
rose  and  walked  to  the  street,  standing  helpless 
there  while  the  crowd  jostled  her.  Was  she 
blind  and  deaf?  He  put  her  into  the  cab  and 
sat  down  opposite  to  her.  "  Half  Moon 
Street,"  he  called  to  the  driver. 

"  Mother,"  touching  her  on  the  knee. 

"  Yes,  George." 

"  I  told  him  to  drive  to  Half  Moon  Street. 
I  will  take  you  to  Clara  Vance.  We  may  as 
well  arrange  things  now,  finally.  You  do  not 
like  my  wife.  That  is  clear.  For  the  present, 
therefore,  it  is  better  that  we  should  separate. 
I  have  consulted  with  Lisa,  and  she  has  sug 
gested  that  you  shall  join  Clara  Vance's  party 
while  we  go  our  own  way." 

She  stared  at  him.  "  Do  you  mean  that  you 
and  I  are  not  to  see  London  together?  Not 
to  travel  through  Europe  together  ?  M 

He  pitied  her  a  little,  and,  leaning  forward, 
kissed  her  clammy  lips.  "  The  thing  will  seem 
clearer  to  you  to-morrow,  no  doubt.  I  must 
leave  you  now.  Go  to  Clara  and  her  girls. 


45 


They  all  like  to  pet  and  make  much  of  you.  I 
will  bring  Lisa  in  the  morning,  to  talk  business 
a  little.  She  has  an  uncommonly  clear  head 
for  business.  Good-by,  dear  !  "  He  stopped 
the  cab,  jumped  out,  and  walked  briskly  to  the 
corner  where  his  wife  was  waiting  for  him. 

"  You  have  told  her  ? "  she  asked  breath 
lessly. 

"  Yes.     It's  over." 

"  That  we  must  separate  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes.     I  told  her  you  thought  it  best." 

"  And  she  was  not  willing  ?  " 

"  Well,  she  did  not  approve  very  cordially," 
said  George,  evading  her  eye. 

"  But  she  shall  approve  !  "  hanging  upon  his 
arm,  her  burning  eyes  close  to  his  face.  "  You 
are  mine,  George!  I  love  you.  I  will  share 
you  with  nobody !  "  She  whistled  shrilly,  and 
a  hansom  stopped. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  darling  ?  " 

"  Follow  her.  I  will  tell  her  something  that 
will  make  her  willing  to  separate.  Get  in,  get 
in!" 


CHAPTER  III 

FRANCES,  when  in  trouble,  went  out  of 
doors  among  the  trees  as  naturally  as  other 
women  take  to  their  beds.  Lisa's  sharp  eyes 
saw  her  sitting  in  the  Green  Park  as  they 
passed.  The  mist,  which  was  heavy  as  rain, 
hung  in  drops  on  the  stretches  of  sward  and 
filled  the  far  aisles  of  trees  with  a  soft  gray 
vapor.  The  park  was  deserted  but  for  an  old 
man  who  asked  Mrs.  Waldeaux  for  the  penny's 
hire  for  her  chair.  As  he  hobbled  away,  he 
looked  back  at  her  curiously. 

"  She  gave  him  a  shilling !  "  exclaimed  Lisa, 
as  he  passed  them.  "  I  told  you  she  was  not 
fit  to  take  care  of  money." 

"  But  why  not  wait  until  to-morrow  to  talk 
of  business?  She  is  hurt  and  unnerved  just 
now,  and  she — she  does  not  like  you,  Lisa." 

"  I  am  not  afraid.  She  will  be  civil.  She  is 
like  Chesterfield.  '  Even  death  cannot  kill  the 
courtesy  in  her.'  You  don't  seem  to  know  the 
woman,  George.  Come." 


47 


But  George  hung  back  and  loitered  among 
the  trees.  He  was  an  honest  fellow,  though 
slow  of  wit ;  he  loved  his  mother  and  was 
penetrated  to  the  quick  just  now  by  a  passion 
ate  fondness  for  his  wife.  Two  such  good, 
clever  women !  Why  couldn't  they  hit  it  off 
together? 

"  George  ?  "  said  Frances,  hearing  his  steps. 

Lisa  came  up  to  her.  She  rose,  and  smiled 
to  her  son's  wife,  and  after  a  moment  held  out 
her  hand. 

But  the  courtesy  which  Lisa  had  expected 
suddenly  enraged  her.  "  No  !  There  need  be 
no  pretence  between  us,"  she  said.  "  You  are 
not  glad  to  see  me.  There  is  no  pretence  in 
me.  I  am  honest.  I  did  not  come  here  to 
make  compliments,  but  to  talk  business." 

"  George  said  to-morrow.  Can  it  not  wait 
until  to-morrow?  " 

"  No.  What  is  to  do— do  it !  That  is  my 
motto.  George,  come  here !  Tell  your 
mother  what  we  have  decided.  Oh,  very  well, 
if  you  prefer  that  I  should  speak.  We  go  to 
Paris  at  once,  Mrs.  Waldeaux,  and  will  take 
apartments  there.  You  will  remain  with  Miss 
Vance." 


48 


"  Yes,    I    know.     I     am     to     remain- 


Frances  passed  her  hand  once  or  twice  over  her 
mouth  irresolutely.  "  But  Oxford,  George  ?  " 
she  said.  "  You  forget  your  examinations?  " 

George  took  off  his  spectacles  and  wiped 
them. 

"  Speak  !  Have  you  no  mind  of  your  own  ?  " 
his  wife  whispered.  "  I  will  tell  you,  then, 
madam.  He  has  done  with  that  silly  whim  ! 
A  priest,  indeed!  I  am  Catholic,  and  priests 
do  not  marry.  He  goes  to  Paris  to  study  art. 
I  see  a  great  future  for  him,  in  art." 

Frances  stared  at  him,  and  then  sat  down, 
dully.  What  did  it  matter  ?  Paris  or  Oxford? 
She  would  not  be  there.  What  did  it 
matter? 

Lisa  waited  a  moment  for  some  comment, 
and  then  began  sharply,  "  Now,  we  come  to 
affaires!  Listen,  if  you  please.  I  am  a 
woman  of  business.  Plain  speaking  is  always 
best,  to  my  idea." 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  drew  herself  together  and 
turned  her  eyes  on  her  with  sudden  apprehen 
sion,  as  she  would  on  a  snapping  dog.  The 
woman's  tones  threatened  attack. 

"  To  live  in  Paris,  to  work  effectively,  your 


49 


son  must  have  money.  I  brought  him  no  dot, 
alas  !  Except  " — with  a  burlesque  courtesy — 
"  my  beauty  and  my  blood.  I  must  know  how 
much  money  we  shall  have  before  I  design  the 
menage." 

"  George  has  his  income,"  said  his  mother 
hastily. 

"  Ah  !  You  are  alarmed,  madam  !  You 
do  not  like  plain  words  about  the  affaires? 
George  tells  me  that  although  he  is  long  ago 
of  age,  he  has  as  yet  received  no  portion  of 
his  father's  estates." 

"  Lisa !  You  do  not  understand  !  Mother, 
I  did  not  complain.  You  have  always  given 
me  my  share  of  the  income  from  the  property. 
I  have  no  doubt  it  was  a  fair  share — as  much 
as  if  my  father  had  left  me  my  portion,  accord 
ing  to  custom." 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  fair  share,"  said  Frances. 

"  Ah  !  you  smile,  madam  !  "  interrupted  Lisa. 
"  I  am  told  it  is  a  vast  property,  a  grand 
chateau — many  securities!  M.  Waldeaux/M? 
made  a  will,  on  dity  incredibly  foolish,  with  no 
mention  of  his  son.  But  now  that  this  son 
comes  to  marry,  to  become  the  head  of  the 
house,  if  you  were  a  French  mother,  if  you 

4 


were  just,  you  would You  appear  to  be 

amused,  madam  ?  " 

For  Mrs.  Waldeaux  was  laughing.  She 
could  not  speak  for  a  moment.  The  tears 
stood  in  her  eyes. 

"  The  matter  has  somewhat  of  droll  to 
you  ?  " 

"  It  has  its  humorous  side,"  said  Frances. 
"  I  quite  understand,  George,  that  you  will 
need  more  money  to  support  a  wife.  I  will 
double  your  allowance.  It  shall  be  paid 
quarterly." 

"You  would  prefer  to  do  that?"  hesitated 
George.  "  Rather  than  to  make  over  a  son's 
share  of  the  property  to  me  absolutely  ?  Some 
of  the  landed  estate  or  securities?  I  have 
probably  a  shrewder  business  talent  than  yours, 
and  if  I  had  control  could  make  my  property 
more  profitable." 

"  I  should  prefer  to  pay  your  income  as  be 
fore — yes,"  said  Frances  quietly. 

"  Well,  as  you  choose.  It  is  yours  to 
give,  of  course."  George  coughed  and  shuffled 
to  conquer  his  disappointment.  Then  he 
said,  "  Have  it  your  own  way."  He  put  his 
hand  affectionately  on  her  shoulder.  "  And 


when  you  have  had  your  little  outing  and  go 
home  to  Weir,  you  will  be  glad  to  have  us 
come  to  you,  for  a  visit — won't  you,  mother? 
You  haven't  said  so." 

"  Why  should  I  say  so  ?  It  is  your  home, 
George,  yours  and  your  wife's."  She  caught 
his  hand  and  held  it  to  her  lips. 

But  Lisa  had  not  so  easily  conquered  her 
disappointment.  This  woman  was  coolly  rob 
bing  George  of  his  rights  and  was  going  in 
stead  to  kill  for  him  a  miserable  little  fatted 
calf !  Bah  !  This  woman,  who  had  maligned 
her  dead  mother ! 

She  should  have  her  punishment  now.  In 
one  blow,  straight  from  the  shoulder. 

"  But  you  should  know,  madam,"  she  said 
gently,  "  who  it  is  your  son  has  married  before 
you  take  her  home.  I  assure  you  that  you  can 
present  me  to  the  society  in  Weir  with  pride. 
I  have  royal  blood " 

"  Lisa !  "  George  caught  her  arm;  "  It  is 
not  necessary.  You  forget -" 

"  Oh,  I  forget  nothing  !  I  said  royal  blood. 
My  father,  madam,  was  the  brother  of  the 
Czar,  and  my  mother  was  Pauline  Felix.  You 
don't  seem  to  understand "  after  a 


moment's  pause.  "  It  was  my  mother  whose 
name  you  said  should  not  cross  any  decent 

woman's  lips — my  mother "  She  broke 

down  into  wild  sobs. 

"  When  I  said  it  I  did  not  know  that  you 

I  am  sorry."  Frances  suddenly  walked  away, 
pulling  open  her  collar.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
there  was  no  breath  in  the  world.  George  fol 
lowed  her.  "  Did  you  know  this  ?  "  she  said  at 
last,  in'  a  hoarse  whisper.  "And  you  are — 
married  to  her  ?  There  is  no  way  of  being  rid 
of  her  ?  " 

"  No,  there  is  no  way,"  said  Waldeaux 
stoutly.  "And  if  there  were,  I  should  not 
look  for  it.  I  am  sorry  that  there  is  any 
smirch  on  Lisa's  birth.  But  even  her  mother, 
I  fancy,  was  not  altogether  a  bad  lot.  Bygones 
must  be  bygones.  I  love  my  wife,  mother. 
She's  worth  loving,  as  you'd  find  if  you  would 
take  the  trouble  to  know  her.  Her  dead 
mother  shall  not  come  between  her  and  me." 

"She's  like  her,  George!"  said  Mrs.  Wal 
deaux,  with  white,  trembling  lips.  "  I  ought  to 
have  seen  it  at  first.  Those  luring,  terrible  eyes. 
It  is  Pauline  Felix's  heart  that  is  in  her. 
Rotten  to  the  core — rotten " 


53 


"I  don't  care.  I'll  stand  by  her."  Biit 
George's  face,  too,  began  to  lose  its  color.  He 
shook  himself  uncomfortably.  "  The  thing's 
done  now,"  he  muttered. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  Frances  repeated 
mechanically.  "Tell  her  that  I  am  sorry  I 
spoke  of  her  mother  before  her.  It  was  rude 
— brutal.  I  ask  her  pardon." 

"  Oh,  she'll  soon  forget  that !  Lisa  has  a 
warm  heart,  if  you  take  her  right.  There's 
lots  of  hearty  fun  in  her  too.  You'll  like  that. 
Are  you  going  now?  Good-by,  dear.  We 
will  come  and  see  you  in  the  morning.  The 
thing  will  not  seem  half  so  bad  when  you  have 
slept  on  it." 

He  paused  uncertainly,  as  she  still  stood 
motionless.  She  was  facing  the  grim  walls  of 
Stafford  House,  looming  dimly  through  the 
mist,  her  eyes  fixed  as  if  she  were  studying 
the  sky  line. 

"George,"  she  said.  "You  don't  un 
derstand.  You  will  come  to  me  always. 
But  that  woman  never  shall  cross  my  thresh 
old." 

"  Mother !  Do  you  mean  what  you 
say  ?  " 


54 


It  was  a  man,  not  a  shuffling  boy  that 
spoke  now.  "  Do  you  mean  that  we  are  not 
to  go  to  you  to-morrow  ?  Not  to  go  home 
in  October?  Never " 

"Your  home  is  open  to  you.  But  Pauline 
Felix's  child  is  no  more  to  me  than  a  wild 
beast — or  a  snake  in  the  grass,  and  never  can 
be."  She  faced  him  steadily  now. 

"  There  she  is,"  said  Frances,  looking  at  the 
little  black  figure  under  the  trees,  "  and  here 
am  I.  You  can  choose  between  us." 

"  Those  whom  God  hath  joined  together," 
muttered  George.  "  You  know  that." 

"  You  have  known  her  for  three  weeks," 
cried  Frances  vehemently.  "  I  gave  you  life. 
I  have  been  your  slave  every  hour  since  you 
were  born.  I  have  lived  but  for  you.  Which 
of  us  has  God  joined  together?  " 

"  Mother,  you're  damnably  unreasonable  ! 
It  is  the  course  of  nature  for  a  man  to  leave 
his  parents  and  cleave  to  his  wife." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  said  slowly.  "  You  can 
keep  that  foul  thing  in  your  life,  but  it  never 
shall  come  into  mine." 

'f  Then  neither  will  I.  I  will  stand  by  my 
wife." 


55 


"  That  is  the  end,  then  ?  " 
She  waited,  her  eyes  on  his. 
He  did  not  speak. 

She  turned  and  left  him,  disappearing  slowly 
in  the  rain  and  mist. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Two  days  later  Mr.  Perry  met  Miss  Vance 
in  Canterbury  and  told  her  of  the  marriage. 
She  hurried  back  to  London.  She  could  not 
hide  her  distress  and  dismay  from  the  two 
girls. 

"  How  did  she  force  him  into  it  ?  One  is 
almost  driven  to  believe  in  hypnotism,"  she 
cried. 

Lucy  Dunbar  had  no  joke  to  make  about  it 
to-day.  The  merry  little  girl  was  silent,  hav 
ing,  she  said,  a  headache. 

"  You've  had  too  much  cathedral !  "  said 
Miss  Hassard.  "And  the  whole  church  is 
wretchedly  out  of  drawing  !  " 

Jean  Hassard  had  studied  art  at  Pond  City 
in  Dakota,  and  her  soul's  hope  had  been  to 
follow  Marie  Bashkirtseffs  career  in  Paris. 
But  her  father  had  morally  handcuffed  her 
and  put  her  into  Clara's  custody  for  a  year. 
It  was  hard  !  To  be  led  about  to  old  churches, 
respectable  as  her  grandmother,  when  she 


57 


might  have  been  stuctying  the  nude  in  a  mixed 
class  !  She  rattled  her  chains  disagreeably  at 
every  step. 

"  The  mesalliance  is  on  the  other  side,"  she 
told  Lucy  privately.  "  A  woman  of  the  world 
who  knew  life,  to  marry  that  bloodless,  finical 
priest !  " 

"  He  was  not  bloodless.     He  loved  her." 

Mr.  Perry  came  up  with  them  from  Canter 
bury,  being  secretly  alarmed  about  Miss  Dun- 
bar's  headache.  Nobody  took  proper  care  of 
that  lovely  child  !  He  had  attached  himself 
to  Miss  Vance's  party  in  England  ;  he  dropped 
in  every  evening  to  tell  of  his  interviews 
with  Gladstone  or  Mrs.  Oliphant  or  an  artist 
or  a  duke.  It  was  delightful  to  the  girls  to 
come  so  close  to  these  unknown  great  folks. 
They  felt  quite  like  peris,  just  outside  the  court 
of  heaven,  with  the  gate  a  little  bit  ajar.  This 
evening  Mr.  Perry  promised  it  should  open 
for  them.  He  was  going  to  bring  a  real  prince, 
whom  he  familiarly  dubbed  "  a  jolly  fellow," 
to  call  upon  Miss  Vance. 

"  Who  is  the  man?"  said  Clara  irritably. 
"  Be  careful,  Mr.  Perry.  I  have  had  enough 
of  foreign  adventurers." 


"  Oh,  the  Hof  Kalender  will  post  you  as  to 
Prince  Wolfburgh.  I  looked  him  up  in  it. 
He  is  head  of  one  of  the  great  mediatized 
families.  Would  have  been  reigning  now  if  old 
KaiserWilhelm  had  not  played  Aaron's  serpent 
and  gobbled  up  all  the  little  kings.  Wolfburgh 
has  kept  all  his  land  and  castles,  however." 

"Very  well.  Let  us  see  what  the  man  is 
like,"  Miss  Vance  said  loftily. 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  was  not  in  the  house  when 
they  arrived.  Every  day  she  went  early  in  the 
morning  to  the  Green  Park,  where  she  had 
seen  George  last,  and  wandered  about  until 
night  fell.  She  thought  that  he  had  gone  to 
Paris,  and  that  she  was  alone  in  London.  But 
somehow  she  came  nearer  to  him  there. 

When  she  found  that  Clara  had  arrived,  she 
knew  that  she  would  be  full  of  pity  for  her. 
She  came  down  to  dinner  in  full  dress,  told 
some  funny  stories,  and  laughed  incessantly. 

No.  She  had  not  missed  them.  The  days 
had  gone  merry  as  a  marriage  bell  with  her 
even  after  her  son  and  his  wife  had  run  away 
to  Paris. 

Mr.  Perry  congratulated  her  warmly  on  the 


59 


match.  "  The  lady  is  very  fetching,  indeed," 
he  said.  "  I  remarked  that  the  first  day  on 
ship-board.  Oh,  yes,  I  know  a  diamond  when 
I  see  it.  But  your  son  picks  it  up.  Lucky 
fellow!  He  picks  it  up!"  He  told  Miss 
Vance  that  there  was  a  curious  attraction 
about  her  friend,  "who,  by  the  way,  should 
always  wear  brown  velvet  and  lace." 

Miss  Vance  drew  little  Lucy  aside  after 
dinner.  "  Do  you  see,"  she  said,  "  the  tears  in 
her  eyes?  It  wrenches  my  heart.  She  has 
become  an  old  woman  in  a  day.  I  feel  as.  if 
Frances  were  dead,  and  that  was  her  ghost 
joking  and  laughing." 

Lucy  said  nothing,  but  she  went  to  Frances 
and  sat  beside  her  all  evening.  When  the 
prince  arrived  and  was  presented,  going  on  his 
triumphant  way  through  the  room,  she  nestled 
closer,  whispering,  "  What  do  you  think  of 
him?" 

"  He  looks  very  like  our  little  fat  Dutch 
baker  in  Weir — he  has  the  same  air  of  patron 
age,"  said  Frances  coldly.  She  was  offended 
that  Lucy  should  notice  the  man  at  all.  Was 
it  not  she  whom  George  should  have  married? 
How  happy  they  would  have  been — her  boy 


6o 


and  this  sweet,  neat  little  girl !  And  already 
Lucy  was  curious  about  so-called  princes ! 

When  his  Highness  came  back  to  them  she 
rose  hastily  and  went  to  her  own  room. 

Late  that  night  Miss  Vance  found  her  there 
in  the  dark,  sitting  bolt  upright  in  her  chair, 
still  robed  in  velvet  and  lace.  Clara  regarded 
her  sternly,  feeling  that  it  was  time  to  take  her 
in  hand. 

"  You  have  not  forgiven  George  ?  "  she  said 
abruptly. 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  looked  up,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Is  he  coming  back  soon?" 

"  He  never  shall  come  back  while  that 
woman  is  with  him." 

Miss  Vance  put  her  lamp  on  the  table  and 
sat  down.  "  Frances,"  she  said  deliberately, 
"  I  know  what  this  is  to  you.  It  would  have 
been  better  for  you  that  George  had  died." 

"  Much  better." 

"But  he  didn't  die.  He  married  Lisa 
Arpent.  Now  it  is  your  duty  to  accept  it. 
Make  the  best  of  it." 

"  If  a  lizard  crawls  into  my  house  will  you 
tell  me  to  accept  it?  Make  the  best  of  it? 
Oh,  my  God  !  The  slimy  vile  creature  !  " 


6i 


"  She  is  not  vile  !  I  tell  you  there  are  lov 
able  qualities  in  Lisa.  And  even  if  she  were 
as  wicked  as  her  mother,  what  right  have 

you You,  too,  are  a  sinner  before 

God." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Waldeaux  gravely,  "  I  am 
not.  I  have  lived  a  good  Christian  life.  I 
may  have  been  tempted  to  commit  sin,  but  I 
cannot  remember  that  I  ever  did  it." 

Miss  Vance  looked  at  her  aghast.  "  But — 

surely  your  religion  teaches  you Why, 

you  are  sinning  now,  when  you  hate  this 
girl!" 

"  I  do  not  hate  her.  God  made  her  as  he 
made  the  lizard.  I  simply  will  not  allow  her 
to  cross  my  path.  What  has  religion  to  do 
with  it  ?  I  am  clean  and  she  is  vile.  That  is 
all  there  is  to  say." 

Both  women  were  silent.  Mrs.  Waldeaux 
got  up  at  last  and  caught  Clara  by  the  arm. 
She  was  trembling  violently.  "  No,  I'm  not 
ill.  I'm  well  enough.  But  you  don't  under 
stand  !  That  woman  has  killed  George.  I 
spent  twenty  years  in  making  him  what  he 
is.  I  worked — there  was  nothing  but  him  for 
me  in  the  world.  I  didn't  spare  myself.  To 


62 


make  him  a  gentleman — a  Christian.  And  in 
a  month  she  turns  him  into  a  thing  like  her 
self.  He  is  following  her  vulgar  courses.  I 
saw  the  difference  after  he  had  lived  with  her 
for  one  day.  He  is  tainted."  She  stood  star 
ing  into  the  dull  lamp.  "  She  may  not  live 
long,  though,"  she  said.  "  She  doesn't  look 
strong " 

"  Frances  !     For  God's  sake  !  " 

"Well,  what  of  it?  Why  shouldn't  I  wish 
her  gone  ?  The  harm — the  harm  !  Do  you 
remember  that  Swedish  maid  I  had — a  great 
fair  woman?  One  day  she  was  stung  by  a 
green  fly,  and  in  a  week  she  was  dead,  her 
whole  body  a  mass  of  corruption  !  Oh,  God 
lets  such  things  be  done!  Nothing  but  a 

green  fly "  She  shook  off  Clara's  hold, 

drawing  her  breath  with  difficulty.  "  That  is 
Lisa.  It  is  George  that  is  being  poisoned, 
body  and  soul.  It's  a  pity  to  see  my  boy 
killed  by  a  thing  like  that — it's  a  pity " 

Miss  Vance  was  too  frightened  to  argue  with 
her.  She  brought  her  wrapper,  loosened  her 
hair,  soothing  her  in  little  womanish  ways. 
But  her  burning  curiosity  drove  her  presently 
to  ask  one  question. 


63 


"  How  can  they  live?" 

"  I  have  doubled  his  allowance." 

"  Frances !  You  will  work  harder  to  make 
money  far  Lisa  Arpent  ?  " 

"  Oh,  what  is  money  !  "  cried  Frances,  push 
ing  her  away  impatiently. 


CHAPTER  V 

Miss  VANCE  persuaded  Mrs.  Waldeaux  to 
go  with  her  to  Scotland.  During  the  weeks 
that  followed  Frances  always  found  Lucy 
Dunbar  at  her  side  in  the  trains  or  on  the 
coaches. 

"  She  is  a  very  companionable  child,"  she 
told  Clara.  "  I  often  forget  that  I  am  any 
older  than  she.  She  never  tires  of  hearing 
stories  of  George's  scrapes  or  his  queer  say 
ings  when  he  was  a  child.  Such  stories,  I 
think,  are  usually  tedious,  but  George  was  a 
peculiar  boy." 

Mr.  Perry's  search  for  notorieties  took  him 
also  to  Scotland,  and,  oddly  enough,  Prince 
Wolfburgh's  search  for  amusement  led  him 
in  the  same  direction.  They  met  him  and 
his  cousin,  Captain  Odo  Wolfburgh,  at  Oban, 
and  again  on  the  ramparts  of  Stirling  Castle, 
and  the  very  day  that  they  arrived  in  Edin 
burgh,  there,  in  Holyrood,  in  Queen  Mary's 


chamber,  stood  the  pursy  little  man,  curling 
his  mustache  before  her  mirror. 

Mr.  Perry  fell  into  the  background  with 
Miss  Hassard.  "  His  Highness  is  becoming 
monotonous ! "  he  grumbled.  "  These  for 
eigners  never  know  when  they  are  superfluous 
in  society." 

"  Is  he  superfluous?"  Jean  glanced  to  the 
corner  where  the  prince  and  Lucy  were 
eagerly  searching  for  the  blood  of  Rizzio  upon 
the  steps. 

"Decidedly,"  said  Perry.  "I  wished  to 
show  you  and  Miss  Dunbar  a  live  prince,  and 
I  did  it.  That  is  done  and  over  with.  He 
has  been  seen  and  heard.  There  is  no  reason 
why  he  should  pop  up  here  and  there  all  over 
Great  Britain  like  a  Jack-in-the-box.  He's 
becoming  a  bore." 

"You  suspect  him  to  be  an  impostor?" 
said  Jean  quickly. 

"  No.  He's  genuine  enough.  But  we  don't 
want  any  foreigners  in  our  caravan,"  stroking 
his  red  beard  complacently.  ) 

"  No.  What  do  you  suppose  is  his  ob 
ject  ? "  asked  Jean,  with  one  of  her  quick, 
furtive  glances. 

5 


66 


Mr.  Perry's  jaws  grew  red  as  his  beard. 
"  How  can  I  tell  ?  "  he  said  gruffly.  He  went 
on  irritably,  a  moment  later  :  "  Of  course  you 
see  it.  The  fellow  has  no  delicacy.  He 
makes  no  more  secret  of  his  plans  than  if  he 
were  going  to  run  down  a  rabbit.  Last  night 
at  Stirling,  over  his  beer,  he  held  forth  upon 
the  dimples  on  Miss  Dunbar's  pink  elbows, 
and  asked  me  if  her  hair  were  all  her  own.  I 
said,  at  last,  that  American  men  did  not  value 
women  like  sheep  by  their  flesh  and  fleece  and 
the  money  they  were  rated  at  in  the  market. 
I  hit  him  square  that  time,  prince  or  no 
prince ! " 

"  Yes,  you  did,  indeed,"  said  Jean  vaguely. 
Her  keen  eyes  followed  Lucy  and  the  prince, 
who  were  loitering  through  the  gallery,  paus 
ing  before  the  faded  portraits.  "  You  think  it 
is  only  her  money  that  draws  him  after  us  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  !  A  fellow  like  that  could 
not  appreciate  Miss  Dunbar's  beauty  and  wit." 

"  You  think  Lucy  witty  ?  "  said  Jean  dryly. 
"And  you  think  she  would  not  marry  for  a 
title  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  any  pure  American  girl 
would  sell  herself,  like  a  sheep  in  the  sham- 


67 


bles!  And  she  is  pure!  A  lamb,  a  lily!" 
cried  Perry,  growing  incoherent  in  his  heat. 

"  She  would  not  if  her  heart  were  preoccu 
pied,"  said  Jean  thoughtfully. 

"  And  you  think "  he  said  breathlessly. 

But  Jean  only  laughed,  and  said  no  more. 

The  guide  had  been  paying  profound  defer 
ence  to  Prince  Wolfburgh,  keeping  close  to 
his  heels.  Now  he  swung  open  a  do'or,  "  If 
your  Highnesses  will  come  this  way?"  he 
said,  bowing  profoundly  to  Lucy. 

The  little  girl  started  and  hurried  back  to 
Miss  Vance.  Her  face  was  scarlet,  and  she 
laughed  nervously.  Prince  Wolfburgh  also 
laughed,  loudly  and  meaningly.  He  swore  at 
the  old  man  and  went  out  into  the  cloister 
where  his  cousin  stood  smoking. 

''Had  enough  of  the  old  barracks?"  said 
the  captain. 

"  I  found  I  was  making  too  fast  running  in 
there,"  said  the  prince  uneasily.  "  I'll  waken 
up  and  find  that  girl  married  to  me  some  day." 

"  Not  so  bad  a  dream,"  puffed  his  cousin. 

"  I'll  take  a  train  somewhere,"  said  the 
prince.  "  But  no  matter  where  I  go,  I'll  find 
an  American  old  woman  with  a  girl  to  marry. 


63 


They  all  carry  the  Hof  Kalender  in  their 
pockets,  and  know  every  bachelor  in  Ger 
many." 

The  captain  watched  him  attentively.  "  I 
don't  believe  those  women  inside  mean  to 
drive  any  marriage  bargain  with  you,  Hugo," 
he  said  gruffly.  "  I  doubt  whether  the  little 
mees  would  marry  you  if  you  asked  her. 
Her  dot,  I  hear,  is  e-normous!"  waving  his 
hand  upward  as  if  to  mountain  heights.  "  And 
as  for  beauty,  she  is  a  wild  rose !  " 

Now,  there  were  reasons  why  the  captain 
should  rejoice  when  Hugo  allied  himself  to 
the  little  mees.  On  the  day  when  he  would 
take  these  hills  of  gold  and  wild  rose  to  him 
self,  the  captain  would  become  the  head  of  the 
house  of  Wolfburgh.  It  was,  perhaps,  a  mean, 
ungilded  throne,  but  by  German  law  no  name 
less  Yankee  woman  could  sit  upon  it. 

The  prince  looked  at  Captain  Odo.  "  You 
cannot  put  me  into  a  gallop  when  I  choose  to 
walk,"  he  said.  "  She's  a  pretty  girl,  and  a 
good  girl,  and  some  time  I  may  marry  her,  but 
not  now." 

Odo  laughed  good-humoredly,  and  they 
sauntered  down  the  path  together. 


69 


The  prince  had  offered  to  dine  with  Miss 
Vance  that  evening,  but  sent  a  note  to  say 
that  he  was  summoned  to  the  Highlands  un 
expectedly. 

"  It  is  adieu,  not  auf  wiederseken,  I  fear,  with 
his  Highness,"  Miss  Vance  said,  folding  the 
note  pensively.  She  had  not  meant  to  drive  a 
marriage  bargain,  and  yet — to  have  placed  a 
pupil  upon  even  such  a  bric-a-brac  throne  as 
that  of  Wolfburgh  !  She  looked  thoughtfully 
at  Lucy's  chubby  cheeks.  A  princess  ?  The 
man  was  not  objectionable  in  himself,  either — 
a  kindly,  overgrown  boy. 

"  He  told  me,"  said  Jean,  "  that  he  was  go 
ing  to  a  house  party  at  Inverary  Castle." 

"  Whose  house  is  that,  Jean  ?  "  asked  Lucy. 

"  It  is  the  ancestral  seat  of  the  Dukes  of 
Argyll." 

"  Oh !  "  Lucy  gave  a  little  sigh.  Prince 
Hugo  was  undeniably  fat  and  very  slow  to 
catch  a  joke,  but  there  was  certainly  a  different 

flavor  in  this  talk  of  dukes  and  ancestral  seats 

• 

to  the  gossip  about  the  Whites  and  Greens  at 
home. 

Indeed,  the  whole  party,  including  even  Mr. 
Perry,  experienced  a  sensation  of  sudden 


70 


vacancy  and  flatness  when  Jiis  Highness  left 
them.  It  was  as  though  they  had  been  shel 
tering  a  royal  eagle  that  was  used  to  dwelling 
in  sunlit  heights  unknown  to  them,  and  now 
they  were  left  on  flat  ground  to  consort  with 
common  poultry. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Miss  VANCE  led  her  party  slowly  through 
Scotland  and  down  again  to  London.  Mrs. 
Waldeaux  went  with  them.  The  girls  secretly 
laughed  together  at  her  fine  indomitable  polite 
ness,  and  her  violent  passion  for  the  Stuarts, 
and  hate  of  the  Roundheads.  But  Mr.  Perry 
was  bored  by  her. 

"  What  is  it  to  us,"  he  said,  "  that  Queen 
Mary  paddled  over  this  lake,  or  Cromwell's 
soldiers  whitewashed  that  fresco  ?  Give  me  a 
clean,  new  American  church,  anyhow,  before 
all  of  your  mouldy,  tomby  cathedrals.  These 
things  are  so  many  cancelled  cheques  to  me. 
I  have  nothing  to  pay  on  them.  It  is  live 
issues  that  draw  on  my  heart.  You  American 
girls  ought  to  be  at  home  looking  into  the 
negro  problem,  or  Tammany,  or  the  Sugar 
Trust,  instead  of  nosing  into  Rembrandts,  or 
miracles  at  Lourdes,  or  palaces.  These  are  all 
back  numbers.  Write  n.  g.  on  them  and  bury 
them.  So,  by  the  way,  is  your  Mrs.  Waldeaux 


72 


a  back  number.  My  own  opinion  is  that  all 
men  and  women  at  fifty  ought  to  go  willingly 
and  be  shut  up  in  the  room  where  the  world 
keeps  its  second-hand  lumber  !  " 

"  Yet  nobody,"  said  Lucy  indignantly,  "  is 
more  careful  or  tender  with  Mrs.  Waldeaux 
than  you !  " 

"  That  is  because  Mr.  Perry  has  the  genuine 
American  awe  of  people  of  good  birth,"  said 
Jean  slyly.  "  It  is  the  only  trait  which  makes 
me  suspect  that  he  is  a  self-made  man." 

Mr.  Perry,  for  answer,  only  bowed  gravely. 
He  long  ago  had  ceased  to  hide  his  opinion 
that  Miss  Hassard  was  insufferable. 

Frances,  for  her  part,  was  sure  that  the 
young  people  were  glad  to  have  her  as  a  com 
panion.  One  day  she  decided  to  stay  with 
them,  and  the  next  to  go  to  New  York  on  the 
first  steamer.  She  seemed  to  see  life  hazily,  as 
one  over  whose  mind  a  cataract  was  growing. 
What  had  she  to  do  in  Europe,  she  reasoned  ? 
George  was  gone.  Her  one  actual  hold  on  the 
world  had  slipped  from  her.  That  great  mys 
terious  thing  called  living  was  done  and  past 
for  her. 

And  yet — there  was  Kenilworth,  and  Scott's 


73 


house?  Scott,  who  had  been  her  friend  and 
leader  since  she  was  eight  years  old  !  f  And  in 
that  anthem  at  York  minster  there  was  a  mes 
sage,  which  she  had  been  waiting  all  of  her  life 
to  hear !  And  here  was  Lucy  beside  her  with 
her  soft  voice,  and  loving  blue  eyes — Lucy, 
who  should  have  been  George's  wife  !  In  all 
of  these  things  something  high  and  good 
called  to  the  poor  lady,  which  she  heard  and 
understood  as  a  child  would  the  voice  of  its 
mother. 

One  hour  she  resolved  to  leave  her  son 
with  his  wife,  to  go  back  to  Weir  at  once  and 
work  with  the  poultry  and  Quigg's  jokes  for 
the  rest  of  her  life.  She  was  dead.  Let  her 
give  up  and  consent  to  be  dead. 

The  next,  she  would  stay  where  she  could 
see  George  sometimes,  and  try  to  forgive  the 
woman  who  had  him  in  her  keeping.  Per 
haps,  after  all,  she  was  human,  as  Clara 
said.  If  she  could  forgive  Lisa,  she  could  be 
happy  with  these  young  people  and  live — live 
in  this  wonderful  old  world,  where  all  that 
was  best  of  past  ages  was  kept  waiting  for 
her. 

When  they  came  to  London,  she  went  at 


74 


once  to  Morgan's  to  make  a  deposit,  for  she 
had  been  hard  at  work  on  her  jokes  as  she 
travelled,  and  had  received  her  pay. 

"  Your  son,  madam,"  said  the  clerk,  "  drew 
on  his  account  to-day.  He  said  he  expected 
remittances  from  you.  Is  this  to  be  put  to  his 
credit?" 

"  My  son  was  in  London  to-day?  " 

"  He  has  just  left  the  house." 

"  Did  he — he  left  a  message  for  me  ?  A 
letter,  perhaps?" 

"  No,  nothing,  madam." 

"  Put  the  money  to  his  credit,  of  course." 

She  went  out  into  the  narrow  street  and 
wandered  along  to  the  Bank  of  England,  star 
ing  up  at  the  huge  buildings. 

He  had  been  looking  at  them — he  had 
walked  on  this  very  pavement  a  minute 
ago !  That  might  be  the  smoke  of  his  cigar, 
yonder ! 

She  could  easily  find  him.  Just  to  look  at 
him  once  ;  to  hold  his  hand  !  He  might  be 
ill  and  need  her ;  he  never  was  well  in  foggy 
weather. 

Then  she  remembered  that  Lisa  was  with 
him.  She  would  nurse  him. 


75 


She  called  a  cab,  and,  as  she  drove  home, 
looked  out  at  the  crowd  with  a  hard,  smiling 
face. 

Henry  Irving  that  night  played  "  Shylock," 
and  Mr.  Perry  secured  a  box  for  Miss  Vance. 
Frances  went  with  the  others.  Before  the 
curtain  rose  there  was  a  startled  movement 
among  them,  a  whisper,  and  then  Clara  turned 
to  Mrs.  Waldeaux. 

"  Frances,  Lisa  is  coming  into  the  opposite 
box,"  she  said.  "  She  is  really  a  beautiful 
woman  in  that  dtcollett  gown,  and  her  cheeks 

flushed,  and  her  eyes I  had  no  idea!  She 

is  superb  ! " 

Two  men  in  the  dress  of  French  officers 
entered  the  box  with  Lisa.  They  seated  her, 
bending  over  her  with  an  empressement  which, 
to  Mrs.  Waldeaux's  heated  fancy,  was  insult 
ing.  George  came  last,  carrying  his  wife's 
cloak,  which  he  placed  upon  a  chair.  One  of 
the  men  tossed  his  cape  to  him,  with  a  familiar 
nod,  and  George  laid  it  aside  and  sat  down  at 
the  back  of  the  box. 

His  mother  leaned  forward,  watching.  That 
woman  had  put  her  son  in  the  place  of  an  in 
ferior — an  attendant. 


The  great  orchestra  shook  the  house  with  a 
final  crash,  and  the  curtain  rose  upon  the 
Venetian  plaza.  Every  face  in  the  audience 
was  turned  attentive  toward  it.  But  Mrs. 
Waldeaux  saw  only  Lisa. 

A  strange  change  came  upon  her  as  she 
watched  her  son's  wife.  For  months  she  had 
struggled  feebly  against  her  hate  of  Lisa. 
Now  she  welcomed  it ;  she  let  herself  go. 

Is  the  old  story  true  after  all?  Is  there 
some  brutal  passion  hiding  in  every  human 
soul,  waiting  its  chance,  even  in  old  age?  It 
is  certain  that  this  woman,  after  her  long  harm 
less  life,  recognized  the  fury  in  her  soul  and 
freed  it. 

"  Frances,"  whispered  Clara,  "  when  this 
act  is  over,  go  and  speak  to  them.  I  will  go 
with  you.  It  is  your  chance  to  put  an  end  to 
this  horrible  separation.  They  are  your  chil 
dren." 

"  No.  That  woman  is  my  enemy,  Clara," 
said  Mrs.  Waldeaux  quietly.  "  I  will  make  no 
terms  with  her." 

Miss  Vance  sighed  and  turned  to  the  stage, 
but  Frances  still  watched  the  opposite  box. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  passion  within  her  had 


77 


cleared  her  eyes.  They  never  had  seen  George 
as  they  now  saw  him. 

Was  that  her  son  ?  Was  it  that  little  prig 
gish,  insignificant  fellow  that  she  had  made  a 
god  of  ?  He  was  dull,  commonplace  !  Satis 
fied  to  sit  dumb  in  the  background  and  take 
orders  from  those  bourgeois  French  Jews ! 

The  play  went  on,  but  she  saw  nothing  but 
George  and  his  wife. 

There  was  the  result  of  all  her  drudgery ! 
The  hot  summers  of  work  in  the  filthy  poultry 
yards ;  the  grinding  out  of  poor  jokes  ;  the 
coarse,  cheap  underclothes  (she  used  to  cry 
when  she  put  them  on,  she  hated  them  so). 
Years  and  years  of  it  all ;  and  for  that  cold, 
selfish  fop ! 

His  mother  saw  him  leave  the  box,  and 
knew  that  he  was  coming. 

"  Oh,  good-evening,  George  !  "  she  said  gayly, 
as  he  opened  the  door.  "A  wonderful  scene, 
wasn't  it?  I  have  always  wished  to  see  Irving 
in  '  Hamlet.'  " 

"  This  is  '  Shylock,'  "  he  said  gravely,  and 
turned  to  speak  to  the  others.  They  welcomed 
him  eagerly,  and  made  room  for  him.  He  had 
lost  something  of  the  cold,  blast  air  which  had 


ennobled  him  in  the  eyes  of  the  young  women. 
He  looked  around  presently,  and  said  with  a 
comfortable  shrug : 

"  It  is  so  pleasant  to  talk  English  again ! 
My  wife  detests  it.  We  speak  only  French.  I 
feel  like  an  alien  and  outcast  among  you ! " 
He  laughed ;  his  mother  glanced  at  him  curi 
ously.  But  Lucy  turned  her  face  away,  afraid 
that  he  should  see  it.  As  he  talked,  George 
noted  the  clear-cut  American  features  of  the 
girls,  and  their  dainty  gowns,  with  a  keen 
pleasure  ;  then  he  glanced  quickly  at  the  op 
posite  box. 

"Ah!"  said  Jean  to  Mr.  Perry.  "The 
soiled  lace  and  musk  are  beginning  to  tell ! 
He  is  tired  of  Lisa  already !  " 

"  I  never  liked  the  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Perry 
coldly.  "  But  he  is  hardly  the  cad  that  you 
suppose." 

He  fell  into  a  gloomy  silence.  He  had 
wasted  two  years'  salary  in  following  Lucy 
Dunbar  about,  in  showering  flowers  on  her, 
in  posing  before  her  in  the  last  fashions 
of  Conduit  Street,  and  yet  when  this  con 
ceited  fellow  came  into  the  box  she  was  blind 
and  deaf  to  all  besides !  Her  eyes  rilled 


79 


with  tears  just  now  when  he  talked  of  his 
loneliness.  Lonely — with  his  wife  !  A  mar 
ried  man ! 

George,  when  the  curtain  fell  again,  sat  down 
by  Frances. 

"  Mother,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  George."  Her  eyes  were  bright  and 
attentive,  but  her  countenance  had  fallen  into 
hard  lines  new  to  him. 

"  I  went  to  Morgan's  this  afternoon.  You 
have  been  very  liberal  to  us." 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can.  You  may  depend 
upon  that  amount,  regularly." 

He  rose  and  bade  them  good-night,  and 
turned  to  her  again. 

"  We — we  are  coming  to-morrow  to  thank 
you.  Mother  f  "  There  was  a  hoarse  sob  in 
his  throat.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm. 
She  moved  so  that  it  dropped.  "  We  will 
come  to-morrow,"  he  said.  "  Did  you  under 
stand  ?  Lisa  wishes  to  be  friends  with  you. 
She  is  ready  to  forgive,"  he  groped  on,  blun 
dering,  like  a  man. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  understand.  You  and  Lisa  are 
coming  to  forgive  me  to-morrow,"  she  said, 
smiling. 


8o 


He  looked   at  her,  perplexed  and  waiting. 

But  she  said  no  more. 

"  Well,  I  must  go  now.     Good-night." 

"  Good-night,  George ! "    Her  bright,  smiling 

eyes  followed  him  steadily,  as  he  went  out. 

Mrs.  Waldeux  tapped  at  Clara's  door  that 
evening  after  they  reached  home. 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  that  I  shall  leave  Lon 
don  early  in  the  morning,"  she  said. 

"  You  will  not  wait  to  see  George  and  his 
wife?" 

"  I  hope  I  never  shall  see  them  again.  No  ! 
Not  a  word !  I  will  hear  no  arguments ! " 
She  came  into  the  room  and  closed  the  door. 
There  was  a  certain  novel  air  of  decision  and 
youth  in  her  figure  and  movements.  "  I  am 
going  to  make  a  change,  Clara,"  she  said.  "  I 
have  worked  for  others  long  enough.  I  am 
going  away  now,  alone.  I  will  be  free.  I  will 
live  my  own  life — at  last."  Her  eyes  shone 
with  exultation. 

"And Where  are  you  going?"  stam 
mered  Miss  Vance,  dismayed. 

"  I  don't  know.  There  is  so  much — it  has 
all  been  waiting  so  long  for  me.  There  are 


Si 


the  cathedrals — and  the  mountains.  Or  the 
Holy  Land.  Perhaps  I  may  try  to  write 
again.  There  seems  to  be  a  dumb  word  or 
two  in  me.  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  Clara," 
throwing  her  arms  about  her  cousin,  the  tears 
rushing  to  her  eyes.  "  I  may  come  back  to 
you  and  little  Lucy  some  time.  But  just  now 
I  want  to  be  alone  and  fancy  myself  young. 
I  never  was  young." 

When  Lucy  stole  into  her  old  friend's  cham 
ber  the  next  morning  as  usual  to  drink  her 
cup  of  coffee  with  her,  she  found  the  door 
open  and  the  room  in  disorder,  and  she  was 
told  that  Mrs.  Waldeaux  had  left  London  at 
daybreak. 


CHAPTER    VII 

DURING  the  year  which  followed,  Mr.  Perry 
was  forced  to  return  to  the  States,  but  he 
made  two  flying  trips  across  "  the  pond,"  as 
he  called  it,  in  the  interests  of  his  magazine, 
always  running  down  his  prey  of  notorieties  in 
that  quarter  of  Europe  in  which  Miss  Vance 
and  her  charges  chanced  to  be. 

When  he  came  in  July  he  found  them  in  a 
humble  little  inn  in  Bozen.  He  looked  with 
contempt  at  the  stone  floors,  the  clean  cell- 
like  chambers,  each  with  its  narrow  bed,  and 
blue  stone  ewer  perched  on  a  wooden  stool ; 
and  he  sniffed  with  disgust  when  breakfast 
was  served  on  a  table  set  out  in  the  Platz. 

"  Don't  know,"  he  said,  "  whether  I  can 
digest  food,  eating  out  of  doors.  Myself,  I 
never  give  in  to  these  foreign  ways.  It's  time 
they  learned  manners  from  us." 

"  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Miss  Vance  placidly, 
"  that  you  can  find  one  of  the  usual  hotels 
built  for  rich  Americans  in  the  town.  We 


avoid  them.  We  search  out  the  inns  du  pays 
to  see  as  far  behind  the  scenes  as  we  can.  I 
don't  care  to  go  to  those  huge  houses  with 
mobs  of  Chicagoans  and  New  Yorkers;  and 
have  the  couriers  and  portiers  turn  the  flash 
lights  on  Europe  for  me,  as  if  it  were  a  bur 
lesque  show." 

"Now,  that's  just  what  I  like!"  said  Perry. 
"  I  always  go  to  the  houses  where  the  royalties 
put  up.  I  like  to  order  better  dishes  and  give 
bigger  tips  than  they  do.  They  don't  know 
Jem  Perry  from  Adam,  but  it's  my  way  of  wav 
ing  the  American  flag." 

"gl  am  afraid  we  have  no  such  patriotic 
motive,"  said  Clara.  *'  My  girls  seem  to  care 
for  nothing  now  but  art.  We  have  made  this 
little  inn  our  headquarters  in  the  Tyrol  chiefly 
out  of  love  for  the  old  church  yonder." 

Mr.  Perry  glanced  contemptuously  across 
the  Platz  at  the  frowning  gray  building,  and 
sat  down  with  his  back  to  it. 

"Art,  eh?  Well,  I've  no  doubt  I  could 
soon  catch  on  to  Art,  if  I  turned  my  mind 
that  way.  It  pays,  too, — Art.  Not  the  fel 
lows  who  paint,  but  the  connoisseurs.  There's 
Miller  from  our  town.  He  was  a  drummer 


\ 
t 


«4 


for  a  candy  firm.  Had  an  eye  for  color. 
Well,  he  buys  pictures  now  for  Americans 
who  want  galleries  in  their  houses.  He 
bought  his  whole  collection  for  Stout — the 
great  dealer  in  hams.  Why,  Miller  can  tell 
the  money  value  within  five  dollars,  at  sight, 
of  any  picture  in  Europe.  He's  safe,  too. 
Never  invests  in  pictures  that  aren't  sure  to 
go  up  in  price.  Getting  rich!  And  began 
as  a  candy  drummer  !  No,  ma'am  !  Art's  no 
mystery.  I've  never  taken  it  up  myself. 
Europe  is  sheer  pleasure  to  me.  I  get  the 
best  out  of  it.  I  know  where  to  lodge  well, 
and  I  can  tell  you  where  the  famous  plats  are 
cooked,  and  I  have  my  coats  built  by  Toole. 
The  house  pays  me  a  salary  which  justifies  me 
in  humoring  my  little  follies,"  stroking  his  red 
beard  complacently. 

Lucy's  chubby  face  and  steady  blue  eyes 
were  turned  on  him  thoughtfully,  and  pres 
ently,  when  they  sauntered  down  the  windy 
street  together,  he  talked  and  she  still  silently 
watched  him. 

"  Miss  Precision  is  weighing  him  in  the 
balance,"  said  Jean,  laughing,  as  she  poured  out 
more  black  coffee.  "  With  all  of  her  soft  ways 


Lucy  is  shrewd.  She  knows  quite  well  why 
he  races  across  the  Atlantic,  and  why  Prince 
Wolfburgh  has  backed  away  from  us  and 
charged  on  us  again  all  summer.  She  is  cool. 
She  is  measuring  poor  Perry's  qualifications 
for  a  husband  now  just  as  she  would  materials 
for  a  cake.  A  neat  little  inventory.  So  much 
energy,  so  much  honest  kindness — so  much 
vulgarity.  I  couldn't  do  that.  If  ever  a  man 
wants  to  marry  me,  I'll  fly  to  him  or  away 
from  him,  as  quick  as  the  steel  needle  does 
when  the  magnet  touches  it." 

Miss  Vance  listened  to  her  attentively. 
"Jean,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "are  you  sure 
that  it  is  Lucy  whom  the  prince  wishes  to 
marry?" 

"  It  is  not  I,"  said  Miss  Hassard  promptly. 
"  He  has  thought  of  me  several  times — he  has 
weighed  my  qualifications.  But  the  man  is  in 
love  with  Lucy  as  honestly  as  a  ploughman 
could  be.  Don't  you  think  I've  tough  luck  ?  " 
she  said,  resting  her  elbow  on  the  table  and 
her  chin  on  her  palm,  her  keen  gray  eyes 
following  Miss  Dunbar  and  her  lover  as  they 
loitered  under  the  shadow  of  the  church.  "  I 
am  as  young  as  Lucy.  I  have  a  better  brain 


86 


and  as  big  a  dot.  But  her  lovers  make  her 
life  a  burden,  and  I  never  have  had  one.  Just 
because  our  noses  and  chins  are  made  up 
differently !  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear  !  "  said  Clara  anxiously.  "  I 
never  thought  you  cared  for  that  kind  of  suc 
cess  ! " 

"  I'm  only  human,"  Jean  laughed.  "  Of 
course  I'm  an  artist.  I'm  going  to  paint  a 
great  picture  some  day  that  all  the  world  shall 
go  mad  about.  Of  Eve.  I'll  put  all  the 
power  of  all  women  into  her.  But  in  the 
meantime  I'd  like  to  see  one  man  turn  pale 
and  pant  before  me  as  the  fat  little  prince 
does  when  Lucy  snubs  him." 

"  Lucy  is  very  hard  to  please,"  complained 
Miss  Vance.  "  She  snubs  Mr.  Perry — natur 
ally.  But  the  prince — why  should  she  not 
marry  the  prince  ?  " 

"  Your  generation,"  said  Jean,  smiling  slyly, 
"  used  to  think  that  an  unreasonable  whim 
called  love  was  a  good  thing  in  marriage " 

"  But  why  should  she  not  love  the  prince  ? 
He  is  honorable  and  kind,  and  quite  passable 

as  to  looks Can  there  be  any  one  else  ?  " 

turning  suddenly  to  Jean. 


Miss  Hassard  looked  at  her  a  moment,  hesi 
tating.  "  Your  cousin  George  used  to  be 
Lucy's  type  of  a  hero " 

"  Why  !  the  man  is  married  !  "  Miss  Vance 
stood  up,  her  lean  face  reddening.  "  Jean ! 
You  surprise  me !  That  kind  of  talk — it's 
indecent !  It  is  that  loose  American  idea  of 
marriage  that  ends  in  hideous  divorce  cases. 
But  for  one  of  my  girls " 

"  It  is  a  very  old  idea,"  said  Jean  calmly. 
"  David  loved  another  man's  wife.  Mind  you, 
I  don't  accuse  Lucy  of  loving  any  body,  but 
when  the  needle  has  once  touched  the  magnet 
it  answers  to  its  call  ever  after." 

Miss  Vance  vouchsafed  no  answer.  She 
walked  away  across  the  Platz,  jerking  her 
bonnet  strings  into  a  knot.  Jean  was  one  of 
the  New  Women  !  Her  opinions  stuck  out  on 
every  side  like  Briareus'  hundred  elbows ! 
You  could  not  come  near  her  without  being 
jabbed  by  them.  Such  women  were  all 
opinions ;  there  was  no  softness,  no  feeling, 
no  delicacy  about  them.  Skeletons  with 
no  flesh !  As  for  Lucy,  she  had  no  fear. 
If  even  the  child  had  loved  George,  she 
would  have  cast  out  every  thought  of  him 


88 


on  his  wedding  day,  as  a  Christian  girl 
should  do  ! 

She  passed  Lucy  at  that  moment.  She  was 
leaning  against  one  of  the  huge  stone  lions 
which  crouch  in  front  of  the  church,  listening 
to  Mr.  Perry.  If  ever  a  pure  soul  looked 
into  the  world  it  was  through  those  limpid 
eyes! 

The  Platz  was  nearly  empty.  One  or  two 
men  in  blouses  clattered  across  the  cobble 
stones  and  going  into  the  dark  church  dropped 
on  their  knees.  The  wind  was  high,  and  now 
and  then  swept  heavy  clouds  low  across  the 
sunlight  space  overhead. 

Lucy,  as  Jean  had  guessed,  knew  why  the 
man  beside  her  had  crossed  the  Atlantic,  and 
she  had  decided  last  night  to  end  the  matter 
at  once.  The  tears  had  stood  in  her  eyes  for 
pky  at  the  thought  of  the  pain  she  must  give 
him.  Yet  she  had  put  on  her  new  close-fitting 
coat  and  a  becoming  fur  cap,  and  pulled  out 
the  loose  hair  which  she  knew  at  this  moment 
was  blowing  about  her  pink  cheeks  in  curly 
wisps  in  a  way  that  was  perfectly  maddening. 
Clara,  seeing  the  mischief  in  her  eyes  as  she 
listened  shyly  to  Perry,  went  on  satisfied. 


89 


There  was  no  abyss  of  black  loss  in  that  girl's 
life! 

Lucy  just  now  was  concerned  only  for 
Perry.  How  the  poor  man  loved  her !  Why 
not  marry  him  after  all,  and  put  him  out  of  his 
pain  ?  She  was  twenty-four.  Most  women  at 
twenty-four  had  gone  through  their  little 
tragedy  of  love.  But  she  had  had  no  tragedy. 
She  told  herself  firmly  that  there  had  been  no 
story  of  love  in  her  life.  There  never  could 
be,  now.  She  was  too  old. 

She  was  tired,  too,  and  very  lonely.  This 
man  would  seat  her  on  a  throne  and  worship 
her  every  day.  That  would  be  pleasant 
enough. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  myself,"  he  was  saying, 
"  to  pursue  you  in  this  way.  You  have  given 
me  no  encouragement,  I  know.  But  whenever 
I  go  to  New  York  and  bone  down  to  work, 
something  tells  me  to  come  back  and  try 
again." 

Lucy  did  not  answer,  and  there  was  a  brief 
silence. 

"  Of  course  I'm  a  fool," — prodding  the 
ground  with  his  stick.  "  But  if  a  man  were  in 
a  jail  cell  and  knew  that  the  sun  was  shining 


just  outside,  he'd  keep  on  beating  at  the 
wall." 

"Your  life  is  not  a  jail  cell.  It's  very  com 
fortable,  I  think." 

"  It  has  been  bare  enough.  I  have  had  a 
hard  fight  to  live  at  all.  I  told  you  that  I  be 
gan  as  a  canal-boy." 

She  looked  at  him  with  quick  sympathy. 
At  once  she  fancied  that  she  could  read  old 
marks  of  want  on  his  face.  His  knuckles  were 
knobbed  like  a  laborer's.  He  had  had  a  hard 
fight !  It  certainly  would  be  pleasant  to  rain 
down  comfort  and  luxury  on  the  good,  plucky 
fellow! 

"  Of  course  that  was  all  long  ago,"  said 
Perry.  "I'm  not  ashamed  of  it.  As  Judge 
Baker  remarked  the  other  day,  '  The  acknowl 
edged  aristocrats  of  America,  to-day,  are  its 
self-made  men.'  He  ought  to  know.  The 
Bakers  are  the  top  of  the  heap  in  New 
York.  Very  exclusive.  I've  been  intimate 
there  for  years.  No,  Miss  Dunbar,  I  may 
have  begun  as  a  mule-driver  on  a  canal,  but 
I  am  choice  in  my  society.  My  wife  will  not 
find  a  man  or  woman  in  my  circle  who  is 
half-cut." 


91 


Lucy  drew  a  long  breath.  To  live  all  day 
and  every  day  with  this  man  ! 

And  yet — she  was  so  tired!  There  was  a 
good  deal  of  money  to  manage,  and  he  could 
do  that.  He  would  like  a  gay,  hospitable 
house,  and  so  would  she,  and  they  would  be 
kind  to  the  poor — and  he  was  an  Episcopa 
lian,  too.  There  would  be  no  hitch  there. 
Lucy  was  a  zealous  High  Churchwoman. 

Why  should  she  not  do  it  ?  The  man  was 
as  good  as  gold  at  heart.  Jean  called  him 
a  cad,  but  the  caddishness  was  only  skin 
deep. 

Mr.  Perry  watched  her,  reading  her  thoughts 
more  keenly  than  she  guessed. 

"  One  thing  I  will  say  in  justice  to  myself," 
he  said.  "You  are  a  rich  woman.  If  you 
marry  me,  you  will  know,  if  nobody  else  does, 
that  I  am  no  fortune-hunter.  I  shall  always 
be  independent  of  my  wife.  Every  dollar  she 
owns  shall  be  settled  on  her  before  I  go  with 
her  to  the  altar." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  thinking  of  the  money,"  said 
Lucy  impatiently. 

"  Then  you  are  thinking  of  me ! "  He 
leaned  over  her.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  been 


92 


suddenly  dragged  too  close  to  a  big  unpleasant 
fire.  "  I  know  you  don't  love  me,"  he  panted, 
"  you  cold  little  angel,  you  !  But  you  do  like 
me?  Eh?  Just  a  little  bit,  Lucy?  Marry 
me.  Give  me  a  chance.  I'll  bring  you  to  me. 
If  there  is  a  single  spark  of  love  in  your  heart 
for  me,  I'll  blow  it  into  a  flame  !  I  can  do  it, 
I  tell  you  !  "  He  caught  her  fiercely  by  the 
shoulder. 

Lucy  drew  back  and  threw  out  her  hands. 
"  Let  me  have  time  to  think  ! " 

"  Time  ?    You've  had  a  year !  " 

"  One  more  day.  Come  again  this  even- 
•ing " 

"This  evening?  I've  come  so  often!" 
staring  breathlessly  into  her  face.  "  It  will  be 
no  use,  I  can  see  that.  Well,  as  you  please. 
I'll  come  once  more." 

The  young  fellow  in  his  jaunty  new  clothes 
shook  as  if  he  had  the  ague.  He  had  touched 
her.  For  one  minute  she  had  been  his ! 

He  turned  and  walked  quickly  across  the 
Platz. 

Lucy,  left  alone,  was  full  of  remorse.  She 
looked  down  into  her  heart ;  she  had  forgotten 
to  do  it  before.  No,  not  a  spark  for  him  to 


93 


blow  into  a  flame  ;  not  a  single  warm  thought 
of  him ! 

The  girl  was  ashamed  of  herself.  He 
might  be  a  cad,  but  he  was  real ;  his  honest 
love  possessed  him  body  and  soul.  It  was  a 
matter  of  expediency  to  her ;  a  thing  to  debate 
with  herself,  to  dally  over,  with  paltry  pros 
and  cons. 

Miss  Vance  came  hurriedly  up  the  street, 
an  open  letter  in  her  hand.  Lucy  ran  to  meet 
her. 

"  What  is  it  ?    You  have  heard  bad  news  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  we  ought  not  to  call  it  that.  It 
is  from  George  Waldeaux.  They  have  a  son, 
two  months  old.  He  tells  it  as  a  matter  for 
rejoicing." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Lucy  feebly. 

"  They  are  at  Vannes — in  Brittany.  He 
has  a  cough.  He  seems  to  know  nobody — to 
have  no  friends,  and,  I  suspect,  not  much 
money.  He  is  terribly  depressed."  Clara 
folded  the  letter  thoughtfully.  "  He  asks  me 
to  tell  his  mother  that  the  baby  has  come." 

"  Where  is  his  mother  ?  " 

"  In  Switzerland." 

"  Why  is   she   not  with  him  ? "   demanded 


94 


Lucy  angrily.  "Wandering  about  gathering 
edelweiss,  while  he  is  alone  and  wretched ! " 

"  He  has  his  wife.  You  probably  do  not 
understand  the  case  fully,"  said  Clara  coldly. 
"  I  am  going  to  wire  to  his  mother  now."  She 
turned  away  and  Lucy  stood  irresolute,  her 
hand  clutching  the  shaggy  head  of  the  stone 
beast  beside  her. 

"  I  can  give  him  money.  I'll  go  to  him. 
He  needs  me ! "  she  said  aloud.  Then  her 
whole  body  burned  with  shame.  She — Lucy 
Dunbar,  good  proper  Lucy,  whose  conscience 
hurt  her  if  she  laid  her  handkerchiefs  away 
awry  in  her  drawer,  nursing  a  criminal  passion 
for  a  married  man ! 

She  went  slowly  back  to  the  inn.  "  He  has 
his  wife,"  she  told  herself.  "  I  am  nothing  to 
him.  I  doubt  if  he  would  know  me  if  he  met 
me  on  the  street."  She  tried  to  go  back  to 
her  easy-going  mannerly  little  thoughts,  but 
there  was  something  strange  and  fierce  behind 
them  that  would  not  down. 

Jean  came  presently  to  the  salle.  "  I  have 
had  a  letter  too,"  she  said.  "  The  girl  who 
writes  came  from  Pond  City.  She  was  in  the 
same  atelier  in  Paris  with  George.  She  says: 


95 


*  Your  friends  the  Waldeaux  have  come  to  grief 
by  a  short  cut.  They  flung  money  about  for 
a  few  months  as  if  they  were  backed  by  the 
Barings.  The  Barings  might  have  given  their 
suppers.  As  for  their  studio  —  there  was  no 
untidier  jumble  of  old  armor  and  brasses  and 
Spanish  leather  in  Paris;  and  Mme.  George  pos 
ing  in  the  middle  in  soiled  tea-gowns  !  But  the 
suppers  suddenly  stopped,  and  the  leather  and 
Persian  hangings  went  to  the  Jews.  I  met 
Lisa  one  day  coming  out  of  the  Vendome, 
where  she  had  been  trying  to  peddle  a  roll  of 
George's  sketches  to  the  rich  Americans.  I 
asked  her  what  was  wrong,  and  she  laughed 
and  said,  "  We  were  trying  to  make  thirty 
francs  do  the  work  of  thirty  thousand.  And 
we  have  made  up  our  minds  that  we  know  no 
more  of  art  than  house  painters.  We  are  in 
a  blind  alley  !  "  Soon  after  that  the  baby  was 
born.  They  went  down  to  Brittany.  I  hear 
that  Lisa,  since  the  child  came,  has  been  ill. 
I  tell  all  this  dreary  stuff  to  you  thinking  that 
you  may  pass  it  on  to  their  folks.  Somebody 
ought  to  go  to  their  relief.'  ' 

"Relief!"    exclaimed   Miss   Vance.     "And 
the  money  that  they  were   flinging  into  the 


96 


gutter  was  earned  day  by  day  by  his  old 
mother!  Every  dollar  of  it !  I  know  that 
during  the  last  year  she  has  done  without 
proper  clothes  and  food  to  send  their  allow 
ance  to  them." 

"You  forget,"  said  Lucy,  "that  George 
Waldeaux  was  doing  noble  work  in  the  world. 
It  was  a  small  thing  for  his  mother  to  help 
him." 

"  Noble  work?  His  pictures  or  his  sermons, 
Lucy?"  demanded  Miss  Vance,  with  a  con 
temptuous  shrug. 

Lucy  without  reply  walked  out  to  the  inn 
garden  and  seated  herself  in  a  shady  corner. 
There  Mr.  Perry  found  her  just  as  the  first 
stroke  of  the  angelus  sounded  on  the  air. 
Her  book  lay  unopened  on  her  lap. 

He  walked  slowly  up  to  her  and  stopped, 
breathing  hard,  as  if  he  had  been  running. 
"  It  is  evening  now.  I  have  come  for  my 
answer,  Miss  Dunbar,"  he  said,  forcing  a  smile. 

"Answer?"     Lucy  looked  up  bewildered. 

"You  have  forgotten!" 

The  blood  rushed  to  her  face.  She  held  out 
her  hands.  "  Oh,  forgive  me !  I  heard  bad 
news.  I  have  been  so  troubled " 


97 


"  You  forgot  that  I  had  asked  you  to  be  my 
wife!" 

"  Mr.  Perry " 

"No,  don't  say  another  word,  Miss  Dunbar. 
I  have  had  my  answer.  I  knew  you  didn't 
love  me,  but  I  did  not  think  I  was  so  paltry 
that  you  would  forget  that  I  had  offered  to 
marry  you." 

Lucy  pressed  her  hands  together,  looking  up 
at  him  miserably  without  a  word.  He  walked 
down  the  path  and  leaned  on  the  wall  with 
his  back  to  her.  His  very  back  was  indig 
nant. 

Presently  he  turned.  "  I  will  bid  you  good- 
by,"  he  said,  with  an  effort  at  lofty  courtesy, 
"  and  I  will  leave  my  adieux  for  your  friends 
with  you." 

"Are  you  going — back  to  the  States?" 
stammered  Lucy. 

"Yes,  I  am  going  back  to  the  States,"  he 
replied  sternly.  "A  man  of  merit  there  has 
his  place,  regardless  of  rank.  Jem  Perry  can 
hold  his  head  there  as  high  as  any  beggarly 
prince.  Farewell,  Miss  Dunbar." 

He  strode  down  the  path  and  disappeared. 
Lucy  shook  her  head  and  cried  from  sheer 

7 


98 


wretchedness.  She  felt  that  she  had  been 
beaten  to-day  with  many  stripes. 

Suddenly  the  bushes  beside  her  rustled. 
"  Forgive  me,"  he  said  hoarsely.  She  looked 
up  and  saw  his  red  honest  eyes.  "  I  behaved 
like  a  brute.  Good-by,  Lucy !  I  never  loved 
any  woman  but  you,  and  I  never  will." 

"  Stay,  stay !  "  she  cried. 

He  heard  her,  but  he  did  not  come  back. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LUCY  was  silent  and  dejected  for  a  day  or 
two,  being  filled  with  pity  for  Mr.  Perry's 
ruined  life.  But  when  she  saw  his  name  in  a 
list  of  outgoing  passengers  on  the  Paris  her 
heart  gave  a  bound  of  relief.  Nothing  more 
could  now  be  done.  That  chapter,  was  closed. 
There  had  been  no  other  chapter  of  moment 
in  her  life,  she  told  herself  sternly.  Now,  all 
the  clouds  had  cleared  away.  It  was  a  new 
day.  She  would  begin  again. 

So  she  put  on  new  clothes,  none  of  which 
she  had  ever  worn  before,  and  tied  back 
her  curly  hair  with  a  fresh  white  ribbon, 
and  came  down  to  breakfast  singing  gayly. 

Miss  Vance  gave  her  her  roll  and  milk  in 
silence,  and  frowning  importantly,  drew  out  a 
letter. 

"  Lucy,  I  have  just  received  a  communica 
tion  from  Prince  Wolfburgh.  He  is  in  Bozen." 

"  Here  !  "  Lucy  started  up,  glancing  around 
like  a  chased  hare. 


100 


Then  she  sat  down  again  and  waited.  There 
was  no  other  chapter,  and  the  book  was  so 
blank  ! 

"His  coming  is  very  opportune,"  she  said 
presently,  gently. 

"  Oh  !  do  you  think  so,  my  dear  ?  Really ! 
Well,  I  always  have  liked  the  young  man.  So 
simple.  So  secure  of  his  social  position.  The 
Wolfburghs,  I  find,  go  back  to  the  eleventh 
century.  Mr.  Perry  had  noble  traits,  but  one 
never  felt  quite  safe  as  to  his  nails  or  his 
grammar." 

"But  the  prince  —  the  prince?"  cried 
Jean. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Well,  he  writes — most  deferen 
tially.  He  begs  for  the  honor  of  an  interview 
with  me  this  afternoon  upon  a  subject  of  the 
most  vital  importance.  He  says,  '  regarding 
you,  as  I  do,  in  loco  parentis  to  the  hochgebo- 
ren  Fraulein  Dunbar.'  " 

"Hochgeboren  !  "  said  Lucy.  "  My  grand 
father  was  a  saddler.  Tell  him  so,  Miss  Vance. 
Tell  him  the  exact  facts.  I  want  no  disclo 
sures  after " 

"After  marriage?"  said  Jean,  rising  sud 
denly.  "  Then  you  have  decided  ?  " 


101 


"  I  have  not  said  that  I  had  decided/' 
replied  Lucy  calmly. 

Jean  laughed.  "  He  will  not  be  scared  by 
the  saddler.  Europeans  of  his  order  take  no 
account  of  our  American  class  distinctions. 
They  look  upon  us  as  low-born  parvenues,  all 
alike.  They  weigh  and  value  us  by  other 
standards  than  birth." 

"  I  have  money,  if  you  mean  that,  Jean," 
said  Lucy  cheerfully. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  go  away,  girls, 
if  you  have  finished  your  dejeuner.  He  may 
be  here  at  any  moment  now,"  said  Clara, 
looking  anxiously  at  her  watch. 

Lucy  went  to  her  little  chamber  and  sat 
down  to  work  at  a  monstrous  caricature  which 
she  was  painting  of  the  church.  Jean  paced 
up  and  down  the  stone  corridor,  looking  out 
of  the  window  into  the  Platz. 

"  He  has  come,"  she  said  excitedly,  appear 
ing  at  Lucy's  door.  "  He  went  into  the  church 
first,  to  say  an  ave  for  help,  poor  little  man  ! 
His  fat  face  is  quite  pale  and  stern.  It  is  a 
matter  of  life  and  death  to  him.  And  it's  no 
more  to  you  than  the  choosing  of  a  new  coat." 

Lucy  smiled  and  sketched  in  a  priest  on  the 


102 


church  steps.  Her  hand  shook,  but  Jean  could 
not  see  that.  She  went  to  the  window  again 
with  something  like  an  inward  oath  at  the 
dolts  of  commonplace  women  who  had  all  the 
best  chances,  but  was  back  in  a  moment, 
laughing  nervously. 

"  Do  you  know  he  has  on  that  old  brown 
suit?"  She  leaned  against  the  jamb  of  the 
door.  "  If  I  were  a  prince,  and  came  a-wooing, 
I  would  have  troops  of  my  Jagers,  and  trum 
pets  and  banners  with  the  arms  of  my  House, 
and  I'd  wear  all  my  decorations.  Of  course 
we  Americans  are  bound  to  say  that  rank  and 
royalty  are  dead  things.  But  if  I  had  them, 
I'd  galvanize  the  corpses  !  If  they  are  useful 
as  shows,  I'd  make  the  show  worth  seeing. 
I'd  cover  myself  with  jewels  like  the  old 
Romanoffs.  You  would  never  see  Queen 
Jean  in  a  slouchy  alpaca  and  pork-pie  hat 
like  Victoria."  While  her  tongue  chattered, 
her  eyes  watched  Lucy  keenly.  "You  don't 
hear  me !  You  are  deciding  what  to  do. 
Why  on  earth  should  you  hesitate?  He 
is  a  gentleman — he  loves  you  ! "  and  then 
to  Lucy's  relief  she  suddenly  threw  on  her 
hat  and  rushed  off  for  a  walk. 


103 


Miss  Dunbar  painted  the  priest's  robe  yel 
low,  in  her  agitation.  But  the  agitation  was 
not  deep.  There  really  seemed  no  reason  why 
she  should  hesitate.  He  would  be  kind  ;  he 
was  well-bred  and  agreeable.  A  princess? 
She  had  a  vague  idea  of  a  glorified  region 
of  ancestral  castles  and  palaces  in  which  dukes 
and  royalties  dwelt  apart  and  discoursed  of 
high  matters.  She  would  be  one  of  them. 

The  other  day  there  seemed  to  be  no  reason 
why  she  should  not  marry  Mr.  Perry.  In  mar 
riage  then  one  must  only  consider  the  suita 
bility  of  the  man  ?  There  was  nothing  else 
to  consider 

With  a  queer,  hunted  look  in  her  soft  eyes 
she  worked  on,  daubing  on  paint  liberally. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  little  salle  below,  Miss 
Vance  sat  stiffly  erect,  while  the  prince  talked 
in  his  shrill  falsetto.  Although  he  set  forth 
his  affection  for  the  engelreine  Mddchen  as 
simply  as  the  little  German  baker  in  Weir 
(whom  he  certainly  did  resemble)  might  have 
jione,  she  could  find,  in  her  agitation,  no  fit 
ting  words  in  which  to  answer  him.  That 
she,  Clara  Vance,  should  be  the  arbiter  in 
a  princely  alliance  !  At  last  she  managed  to 


104 


ask  whether  Miss  Dunbar  had  given  him  any 
encouragement  on  which  to  found  his  claim. 

"  Ah,  Fraulein  Vance !  "  he  cried,  laugh 
ing.  "  The  hare  does  not  call  to  the  hounds ! 
But  I  have  no  fear.  She  speaks  to  me  in  other 
ways  than  by  words. 

"  '  Mein  Herz  und  seine  Augen 
Verstehen  sich  gar  so  gut ! ' 

You  know  the  old  song.  Ah,  ja !  I  under 
stand  what  she  would  say — here  !  "  touching 
his  heart. 

He  paced  up  and  down,  smiling  to  himself. 
Suddenly  he  drew  up  before  her,  tossing  his 
hands  out  as  if  to  throw  away  some  pleasant 
dream.  "  I  have  come  to  you,  gracious  lady, 
as  I  would  to  the  mother  of  Miss  Dunbar.  I 
show  to  you  the  heart !  But  before  I  address 
her  it  is  necessary  that  I  shall  consult  her 
guardian  with  regard  to  business." 

It  was  precisely,  Clara  said  afterward,  as  if 
the  baker  from  Weir  had  stopped  singing,  and 
presented  his  bill. 

"  Business  ?  "  she  gasped.  "  Oh,  I  see  ! 
Settlements.  We  don't  have  such  things  in 
the  States.  But  I  quite  understand  all  those 


105 


European  social  traits.  I  have  lived  abroad 
for  years.  I- " 

"  Who  is  Miss  Dunbar's  guardian  ?  "  the 
prince  demanded  alertly.  He  sat  down  by  the 
table-and  took  out  a  notebook  and  papers. 

"  But— settlements  ?  Is  not  that  a  little  pre 
mature  ? "  she  ventured.  "  She  has  not  ac 
cepted  you." 

"He  may  not  accept  my  financial  proposals. 
It  is  business,  you  see.  The  gentle  ladies, 
even  die  Amerikaner,  do  not  comprehend 
business.  It  is  not,  you  perceive,  dear  lady, 
the  same  when  the  head  of  the  House  of 
Wolfburgh  allies  himself  with  a  hochgcboren 
Frdulein  as  when  the  tailors  marry " 

"  Nor  bakers.     I  see,"  stammered  Clara. 

"  Miss  Dunbar's  properties  are  valuable. 
Her  estate  in  Del-aware,"  glancing  at  his  note 
book,  "  is  larger  than  some  of  our  German 
kingdoms.  Her  investments  in  railway  and 
mining  securities,  if  put  on  the  market,  should 
be  worth  a  million  of  florins.  These  are  solid 
matters,  and  must  be  dealt  with  carefully." 

"  But,  good  gracious,  Prince  Wolfburgh  !  " 
cried  Miss  Vance,  "how  did  you  find  out  about 
Lucy's  investments?" 


io6 


He  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  "  Meine 
gnddigste  Frdnlein  !  It  is  not  possible  that 
you  supposed  that  in  such  a  matter  as  this 
men  leap  into  the  dark — the  men  of  rank, 
princes,  counts,  English  barons,  who  marry 
the  American  mees  ?  That  they  do  not  know 
for  what  they  exchange  their — all  that  they 
give  ?  I  will  tell  you,"  with  a  condescending 
smile.  "  There  are  agents  in  the  States — in 
New  York — in  Chicago — in — how  do  you 
name  it  ?  St.  Sanata.  They  furnish  exact 
information  as  to  the  dot  of  the  lady  who  will, 
perhaps,  marry  here.  Oh,  no  !  We  do  not 
leap  into  the  dark !  " 

"  So  I  perceive,"  said  Clara  dryly.  "  And 
may  I  inquire,  your  Highness,  what  financial 
arrangement  you  propose,  in  case  she  becomes 
your  wife  ?  " 

"  Assuredly."  He  hastily  unfolded  a  large 
paper.  "  This  must  be  accepted  by  her  guar 
dian  before  the  betrothal  can  take  place.  I 
will  translate,  in  brief.  The  whole  estate 
passes  to  me,  and  is  secured  to  me  in  case  of 
my  wife's  death  without  issue.  I  inserted 
that  clause,"  he  said,  looking  up,  smiling,  for 
approval,  "  because  American  Frduleins  are  so 


107 


fragile — not  like  our  women.  I  will,  of  course, 
if  we  have  issue,  try  to  preserve  the  real  es 
tate  for  my  heir,  and  the  remaining  property 
for  my  other  children." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  a  good  deal  is  taken 
for  granted  there,"  said  Clara,  whose  cheeks 
were  very  hot.  "  And  where  does  Miss  Dun- 
bar  come  into  this  arrangement  ?  Is  she  not 
to  have  any  money  at  all  ?  " 

"  My  widow,  should  I  die  first,  will  be  paid 
an  annuity  from  my  estate.  But  while  Mees 
Lucy  is  my  wife,  /will  buy  all  that  she  needs. 
I  will  delight  to  dress  her,  to  feed  her  well. 
With  discretion,  of  course.  For  there  are 
many  channels  into  which  my  income  must 
flow.  But  I  will  not  be  a  niggardly  husband 
to  her  !  No,  no  ! "  cried  the  little  man  in 
a  glow. 

"That  is  very  kind  of  you.  But  she  will 
not  have  any  of  her  own  money  to  spend  ?  In 
her  own  purse  ?  To  fling  into  the  gutter  if 
she  chooses?  " 

The  prince  laughed  gayly.  "  How  American 
you  are,  gracious  lady  !  A  German  wife  does 
not  ask  for  her  '  own  purse.'  My  wife  will 
cease  to  be  American ;  she  will  be  German," 


io8 


patting  his  soft  hands  ecstatically.  "  But  you 
have  not  told  me  the  name  of  her  guardian?  " 

"  Lucy,"  said  Miss  Vance  reluctantly,  "  is  of 
age.  She  has  full  control  of  her  property.  A 
Trust  Company  manages  it  for  her,  but  they 
have  no  authority  to  stop  her  if  she  chooses  to 
— throw  it  into  the  gutter." 

The  prince  looked  up  sharply.  Could  this 
be  a  trick  ?  But  if  it  were,  the  agent  would 
find  out  for  him.  He  rose. 

"  To  have  the  sole  disposal  of  her  own  hand 
and  of  her  fortune?  That  seems  strange  to 
us,"  he  said,  smiling.  "But  I  have  your  con 
sent,  most  dear  lady,  to  win  both,  if  I  can  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  prince.     If  you  can." 

He  took  her  hand  and  bowed  profoundly 
over  it,  but  no  courtly  grace  nor  words  could 
bring  back  Clara's  awe  of  him.  She  had  a 
vague  impression  that  the  Weir  baker  had 
been  wrangling  with  her  about  his  bill. 

"Your  Highness  has  asked  a  good  many 
questions,"  she  said.  "  May  I  put  one  to  you  ? 
Did  you  inquire  concerning  Miss  Hassard's 
dot,  also  ?  " 

"Ah,  certainly!  Why  not?  It  is  very 
large.  I  have  spoken  of  it  to  my  cousin  Count 


log 


Odo.  But  the  drawback — her  father  still 
lives.  He  may  marry  again.  Her  dot  de 
pends  upon  his  good  pleasure.  Whereas  Miss 
Dunbar  is  an  orphan ;  and  besides  that,  she  is 
so  dear  to  me !  "  clasping  his  hands,  his  face 
red  with  fervor.  "  So  truly  dear !  " 

And  she  knew  that  he  honestly  meant  it. 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHEN  Miss  Vance  came  into  the  corridor 
after  she  had  reported  this  interview  to  Lucy, 
Jean  swept  her  into  her  room  and  dragged  the 
whole  story  from  her.  In  fact  the  poor  anx 
ious  lady  was  glad  to -submit  it  to  the  girl's 
shrewd  hard  sense. 

"  You  told  him  that  she  was  the  uncontrolled 
mistress  of  her  money  !  " 

"  It  is  the  truth.  I  had  to  tell  him  the 
truth,  my  dear." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,  for  he  would  have  found 
it  out  anyhow." 

"  I  do  feel,"  panted  Clara,  "  as  if  I  had  put  a 
dove  into  the  claws  of  a  vulture." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Jean  promptly.  "The 
little  man  has  a  heart,  but  an  empty  pocket. 
Was  Lucy  interested  most  in  his  love  or  his 
bargaining?  " 

"  In  neither,  I  think.  She  just  went  on 
painting,  and  said  nothing." 

"  Oh,  she  will  decide  the  matter  in  time  ! 


Ill 


She  will  bring  her  little  intellect  to  bear  on  it 
as  if  it  were  a  picnic  for  her  Sunday-school 
class ! "  Jean  stood  silent  a  while.  "  Miss 
Vance,"  she  said  suddenly,  "  let  me  engineer 
this  affair  for  a  few  days.  I  can  help  you." 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do,  Jean  ?  " 

"  To  leave  Bozen  to-morrow.     For  Munich." 

"  But  the  Wolfburghs  have  a  palace  or — 
something  in  Munich.  Is  it  quite  delicate  for 
us " 

"  It  is  quite  rational.  Let  us  see  what  the 
something  is.  So  far  in  our  dealings  with 
principalities  and  powers,  we  have  had  a  stout 
little  man — with  no  background." 

The  prince  was  startled  when  he  was  told  of 
this  sudden  journey,  but  declared  that  he  would 
follow  them  to-morrow. 

Lucy,  as  usual,  asked  no  questions,  but 
calmly  packed  her  satchel. 

As  the  little  train,  the  next  day,  lumbered 
through  the  valley  of  the  Eisach,  she  sat  in 
her  corner,  reading  a  newspaper.  Miss  Vance 
dozed,  or  woke  with  a  start  to  lecture  on  points 
of  historic  interest. 

"Why  don't  you  look,  Lucy?  That  mon 
astery  was  a  Roman  fortress  in  the  third  cen- 


112 


tury.  And  you  are  missing  the  color  effects  of 
the  vineyards." 

"  I  can  look  now.  I  have  finished  my  paper." 
Lucy  folded  it  neatly  and  replaced  it  in  her 
bag.  "  I  have  read  the  Delaware  State  Sun," 
she  said  triumphantly,  "  regularly,  every  week 
since  we  left  home.  When  I  go  back  I  shall 
be  only  seven  days  behind  with  the  Wilming 
ton  news." 

Jean  glanced  at  her  contemptuously. 
"  Look  at  that  great  castle  on  yonder  moun 
tain,"  she  said.  "  You  could  lodge  a  village 
inside  of  the  ramparts.  Do  you  think  Wolf- 
burgh  Schloss  is  like  that  ?  The  prince  told  us 
last  night,  "  turning  to  Miss  Vance,  "  the  old 
legends  about  his  castle.  The  first  Wolfburgh 
was  a  Titan  about  the  time  of  Noah,  and  mar 
ried  a  human  wife,  and  with  his  hands  tore 
open  the  mountain  for  rocks  to  lay  the  founda 
tion  of  his  house.  According  to  his  story 
there  were  no  end  of  giants  and  trolls  and 
kings  concerned  in  the  building  of  it,"  she 
went  on,  furtively  watching  the  deepening 
pink  in  Lucy's  cheek.  "The  Wolfburgh  of 
Charlemagne's  day  was  besieged  by  him,  and 
another  entertained  St.  Louis  and  all  his  cru- 


saders  within  the  walls."  Jean's  voice  rose 
shrilly  and  her  eyes  glowed.  She  leaned  for 
ward,  looking  eagerly  across  the  fields.  "  The 
prince  told  us  that  the  Schloss  of  his  race  had 
for  centuries  been  one  of  the  great  fortresses 
of  Christendom.  And  here  it  is !  Now  we 
shall  see — we  shall  see  !  " 

The  car  stopped.  The  guard  opened  the 
door  and  Miss  Vance  and  Lucy  suddenly  found 
themselves  swept  by  Jean  on  to  the  platform, 
while  the  little  train  rumbled  on  down  the 
valley.  Miss  Vance  cried  out  in  dismay. 

"  Never  mind.  There  will  be  another  train  in 
a  half  hour,"  said  Jean.  "  Here  is  the  Schloss," 
pointing  to  a  pepper-box  tower  neatly  white 
washed,  which  rose  out  of  a  huge  mass  of 
broken  stone.  "  And  here,  I  suppose,  is  the 
capital  of  the  kingdom  over  which  the  Wolf- 
burghs  now  reign  feudal  lords?  " 

Clara  found  herself  against  her  will  looking 
curiously  at  the  forge,  the  dirty  shop,  the  tiny 
bier-halle,  and  a  half  a  dozen  huts,  out  of 
which  swarmed  a  few  old  women  and  children. 

"  Where  are  the  men  of  this  village  ?  "  Jean 
demanded  of  the  station  master,  a  stout  old 
man  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth. 

8 


"  Gone  to  America,  for  the  most  part,"  he 
said,  with  a  shrug. 

Lucy  came  up  hastily,  an  angry  glitter  in 
her  soft  eyes.  "  You  have  no  right  to  make 
me  play  the  spy  in  this  way ! "  she  said 
haughtily,  and  going  into  the  little  station  sat 
down  with  her  back  to  the  door. 

"You?  It  is  I— I "  muttered  Jean 

breathlessly.  "And  who  lives  in  the  tower, 
my  good  man?  It  is  not  big  enough  for  a 
dozen  hens."  She  slipped  a  florin  into  his 
hand. 

"  Four  of  the  noble  ladies  live  there.  The 
princesses.  The  gracious  sisters  of  Furst  Hugo. 
There  come  two  of  them  now." 

A  couple  of  lean,  wrinkled  women  dressed 
in  soiled  merino  gowns  and  huge  black 
aprons,  their  hair  bristling  in  curl  papers, 
crossed  the  road,  peering  curiously  at  the 
strangers. 

"  They  came  to  look  at  you,  Fraulein,"  said 
the  man,  chuckling.  "  Strangers  do  not  stop  at 
Wolfburgh  twice  in  the  year." 

"  And  what  do  the  noble  ladies  do  all  the 
year?" 

"  Jean,  Jean  !  "  remonstrated  Clara. 


"  Oh,  Miss  Vance  !  This  is  life  and  death  to 
some  of  us  !  What  do  they  do  ?  " 

"Do?"  said  the  man,  staring.  "What 
shall  any  gracious  lady  do  ?  They  cook  and 
brew,  and  crochet  lace  and " 

"  Are  there  any  more  princesses — sisters  of 
Furst  Hugo?" 

"  Two  more.  They  live  in  Munich.  No, 
none  of  them  are  married.  Because,"  he  added 
zealously,  "  there  are  no  men  as  high-born  as 
our  gracious  ladies,  so  they  cannot  marry." 

"  No  doubt  that  accounts  for  it,"  said  Jean. 
"  Six.  These  are  *  the  channels  into  which  the 
income  will  flow/  hey  ?  "  She  gave  him  more 
money,  and  marching  into  the  station  caught 
Lucy  by  the  shoulder,  shaking  her  passion 
ately.  "  Do  you  think  any  American  girl 
could  stand  that?  How  would  you  like  to 
be  caged  up  in  that  ridiculous  tower  to  cook 
and  crochet  and  brew  beer  and  watch  the  train 
go  by  for  recreation  ?  The  year  round — the 
year  round  ?  " 

Lucy  rose  quietly.  "  The  train  is  coming 
now,"  she  said.  "  Calm  yourself,  Jean.  You 
will  not  have  to  live  in  the  tower." 

Jean  laughed.     When  they  were   seated  in 


n6 


the  car  again,  she  looked  wistfully  out  at  the 
heaps  of  ruins. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  mighty  fortress  once," 
she  said.  "  Those  stones  were  hewed  before 
Charlemagne's  time.  And  a  great  castle  could 
easily  be  built  with  them  now,"  she  added 
thoughtfully. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  travellers  entered  Munich  at  noon. 
The  great  generous  city  lay  tranquil  and  smil 
ing  in  the  frosty  sunlight. 

"  I  have  secured  apartments,"  said  Miss 
Vance,  "  used  hitherto  by  royalties  or  Amer 
ican  millionaires.  My  girl  must  be  properly 
framed  when  a  prince  comes  a-wooing." 

Lucy  smiled.  But  her  usual  warm  color 
faded  as  they  drove  through  the  streets. 
Jean,  however,  was  gay  and  eager. 

"Ah,  the  dear  splendid  town  !"  she  cried. 
"  It  always  seems  to  give  us  a  royal  welcome. 
Nothing  is  changed  !  There  is  the  music  in 
the  Keller -s,  and  there  go  the  same  Bavarian 
officers  with  their  swagger  and  saucy  blue 
eyes.  They  are  the  handsomest  men  in 
Europe !  And  here  is  the  Miinchen-kindl 
laughing  at  us,  and  the  same  crowds  are  going 
to  the  Pinakothek  !  What  do  you  want  more  ? 
Beer  and  splendor  and  fun  and  art !  What  a 
home  it  will  be  for  you,  Lucy !  " 


n8 


Lucy's  cold  silence  did  not  check  Jean's 
affectionate  zeal.  She  anxiously  searched 
among  the  stately  old  buildings,  which  they 
passed,  for  the  Wolfburgh  palace.  "  It  will 
not  be  in  these  commonplace  Haussmannized 
streets,"  she  said.  "  It  is  in  some  old  corner  ; 
it  has  a  vast,  mysterious,  feudal  air,  I  fancy. 
You  will  hold  a  little  court  in  it,  and  sometimes 
let  a  poor  American  artist  from  Pond  City  in 
to  hang  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd  and  stare  at 
the  haute  noblesse." 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  Jean,"  said  Miss  Vance. 

"  I  am  quite  serious.  I  think  an  American 
girl  like  Lucy,  with  her  beauty  and  her  money, 
will  be  welcomed  by  these  German  nobles  as  a 
white  swan  among  ducks.  She  ought  to  take 
her  place  and  hold  it."  Jean's  black  eyes 
snapped  and  the  blood  flamed  up  her  cheeks. 
"  If  I  were  she  I'd  make  my  money  tell !  I'd 
buy  poor  King  Ludwig's  residence  at  Binder- 
hof,  with  the  cascades  and  jewelled  peacocks 
and  fairy  grottos,  for  my  country  seat.  The 
Bavarian  nobility  are  a  beggarly  lot.  If  they 
knew  that  Lucy  and  her  millions  were  coming 
to  town  in  this  cab,  they'd  blow  their  trumpets 
for  joy.  '  Wave,  Munich,  all  thy  banners 


iig 


wave  ! '  "  Lucy's  impatient  shrug  silenced  her, 
but  she  was  preoccupied  and  excited  through 
out  the  day.  Miss  Vance  watched  her  curi 
ously.  Could  it  be  that  she  had  heard  of  the 
prince's  plan  of  marrying  her  to  his  cousin, 
and  that  she'was  building  these  air  castles  for 
herself  ? 

A  day  or  two  sufficed  to  make  Miss  Vance's 
cheery  apartments  the  rendezvous  of  troops  of 
Americans  of  all  kinds  :  from  the  rich  lounger, 
bored  by  the  sight  of  pictures,  which  he  did 
not  understand,  and  courts  which  he  could  not 
enter,  to  the  half-starved,  eager-eyed  art  stu 
dents,  who  smoked,  and  drank  beer,  and  chat 
tered  in  gutturals,  hoping  to  pass  for  Germans. 

There  were  plenty  of  idle  young  New  Yorkers 
and  Bostonians  too,  hovering  round  Lucy  and 
Jean,  overweighted  by  their  faultless  London 
coats  and  trousers  and  fluent  French.  But  they 
deceived  nobody ;  they  all  had  that  nimble 
brain,  and  that  unconscious  swagger  of  impor 
tance  and  success  which  stamps  the  American 
in  every  country.  Prince  Hugo,  in  his  old 
brown  suit,  came  and  went  quietly  among  them. 

"  The  genuine  article  !  "  Jean  declared  loudly. 


120 


"  There  is  something  royal  in  his  hospitality  ! 
He  lays  all  Munich  at  Lucy's  feet,  as  if  it  were 
his  own  estate,  and  the  museums  and  palaces 
were  the  furniture  of  his  house.  That  homely 
simplicity  of  his  is  tremendously  fine,  if  she 
could  understand  it !  " 

The  homely  genuineness  had  its  effect  even 
upon  Lucy.  The  carriage  which  he  brought 
to  drive  them  to  Isar-anen  was  scaly  with  age, 
but  the  crest  upon  it  was  the  noblest  in  Ba 
varia  ;  in  the  cabinet  of  portraits  of  ancient 
beauties  in  the  royal  palace  he  showed  her 
indifferently  two  or  three  of  his  aunts  and 
grandmothers,  and  in  the  historical  picture  of 
the  anointing  of  the  great  Charlemagne,  one 
of  his  ancestors,  stout  and  good-humored  as 
Hugo  himself,  supported  the  emperor. 

"  The  pudgy  little  man,"  said  Jean  one  day, 
"  somehow  belongs  to  the  old  world  of  knights 
and  crusaders — Sintram  and  his  companions. 
He  will  make  it  all  real  to  Lucy  when  she 
marries  him.  He  is  like  Ali  Baba,  standing 
at  the  shut  door  of  the  cave  full  of  jewels  and 
treasures  with  the  key  in  his  hand." 

"  Those  Arabian  Night  stories  are  simply 
silly,"  said  Lucy  severely.  "  I  am  astonished 


121 


that  any  woman  in  this  age  of  the  world  should 
read  that  kind  of  trash." 

"  But  the  prince's  cave  ?  "  persisted  Jean. 
"  When  are  we  to  look  into  it  ?  I  want  to  be 
sure  of  the  treasures  inside.  When  are  we 
to  go  to  his  palace  ?  When  will  his  sisters 
ask  us  to  dinner  ?  " 

Miss  Vance  looked  anxious.  "  That  is  a 
question  of  great  importance,"  she  said.  "  The 
princesses  have  invited  me  through  their 
brother  to  call.  It  is  of  course  etiquette  here 
for  the  stranger  to  call  first,  but  I  don't  wish 
to  compromise  Lucy  by  making  advances." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  Lucy 
said,  blushing  and  faltering  a  little,  "  It  would 
be  better  perhaps  to  call,  and  not  prejudice 
them,  by  any  discourtesy,  against  us.  The 
prince  is  very  kind." 

"  So  !  The  wind  is  in  that  quarter  ?  "  Jean 
said,  with  a  harsh  laugh. 

She  jumped  up  and  went  to  her  own  room. 
She  was  in  a  rage  at  herself.  Why  had  she 
not  run  away  to  Paris  months  ago  and  begun 
her  great  picture  of  the  World's  mother,  Eve  ? 
There  was  a  career  for  her  !  And  thinking — 
perhaps  of  Eve — she  cried  hot  salt  tears. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  WEEK  passed,  but  the  question  of  the 
first  call  was  not  yet  settled.  It  required  as 
much  diplomacy  as  an  international  difficulty. 
Fiirst  Hugo  represented  the  princesses  as 
"  burning  with  impatience  to  behold  the  en- 
gelreine  Madclien  whom  they  hoped  to  em 
brace  as  a  sister,"  but  no  visible  sign  of  their 
ardor  reached  Miss  Vance. 

On  Monday  Jean  went  to  spend  the  day 
with  some  of  her  artist  friends,  but  at  noon 
she  dashed  into  the  room  where  Clara  and 
Lucy  sat  sewing,  her  dark  face  blotched  red, 
and  her  voice  stuttering  with  excitement. 

"  I  have  seen  into  the  cave  !  "  she  shouted. 
"  I  have  got  at  the  truth  !  It's  a  rather  stagy 
throne,  the  Wolfburghs !  Plated,  cheap !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  said  Miss 
Vance. 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter  with  me.  It  is 
Lucy's  tragedy.  I've  seen  the  magnificent 
ancient  palace  of  the  Wolfburghs.  It  is  a  flat! 


123 


In  the  very  house  where  I  went  to-day.  The 
third  story  flat  just  under  the  attics  where 
the  poor  Joneses  daub  portraits.  I  passed  the 
open  doors  and  I  saw  the  shabby  old  tables 
and  chairs  and  the  princesses — two  fat  old 
women  in  frowzy  wrappers,  and  their  hair  in 
papers,  eating  that  soup  of  pork  and  cabbages 
and  raisins — the  air  was  thick  with  the  smell ! 
And  that  is  not  the  worst ! " 

"  Take  breath,  Jean,"  said  Lucy  calmly. 

"  The  prince  himself — the  Joneses  told  me, 
there  can  be  no  doubt — the  prince  makes 
soap  for  a  living  !  No  wonder  you  turn  pale, 
Miss  Vance.  Soap  !  He  is  the  silent  partner 
in  the  firm  of  Woertz  und  Zimmer,  and  it  is 
not  a  paying  business  either." 

Jean  did  not  wait  for  an  answer,  but  walked 
up  and  down  the  room,  laughing  angrily  to 
herself.  •"  Yes,  soap !  He  cannot  sneer  at 
Lucy's  ancestral  saddles,  now.  Nor  my 
father's  saws  !  His  rank  is  the  only  thing  he 
has  to  give  for  Lucy's  millions,  and  now  she 
knows  what  it  is  worth  ! " 

Lucy  rose  and,  picking  up  her  work  basket, 
walked  quietly  out  of  the  room.  Jean  flashed 
an  indignant  glance  after  her. 


124 


"  She  might  have  told  me  that  he  gave  him- 
self!  Surely  the  man  counts  for  something! 
Anyhow,  rank  like  his  is  not  smirched  by 
poverty  or  trade.  Bismarck  himself  brews 
beer." 

"  Your  temper  is  contradictory  to-day,"  said 
Clara  coldly.  "  Did  you  know,"  she  said 
presently,  "  that  the  princesses  will  be  at  the 
Countess  von  Amte's  to-morrow  ?  " 

"Then  we  shall  meet  them!"  cried  Jean. 
"Then  something  will  be  settled." 

Lucy  locked  the  door  of  her  chamber  after 
her.  She  found  much  comfort  in  the  tiny  bare 
room  with  its  white  walls  and  blue  stove,  and 
the  table  where  lay  her  worn  Bible  and  a 
picture  of  her  old  home.  The  room  seemed  a 
warm  home  to  her  now.  Above  the  wall  she 
had  hung  photographs  of  the  great  Madonnas, 
and  lately  she  had  placed  one  of  Frances 
Waldeaux  among  them.  That  was  the  face 
on  which  she  looked  last  at  night.  When 
Clara  had  noticed  it,  Lucy  had  said,  "  I  am  as 
fond  of  the  dear  lady  as  if  she  were  my  own 
mother." 

She  sat  down  before  it  now,  and  taking  out 
her  sewing  began  to  work,  glancing  up  at  it, 


125 


half  smiling  as  to  a  friend  who  talked  to  her. 
She  thought  of  Fiirst  Hugo  boiling  soap,  with 
a  gentle  pity,  and  of  Jean  with  hot  disdain. 
What  had  Jean  to  do  with  it  ?  The  prince  was 
her  own  lover,  as  her  gloves  were  her  own. 

But  indeed,  the  prince  and  love  were  but 
shadows  on  the  far  sky  line  to  the  little  girl ; 
the  real  things  were  her  work  and  her  Bible, 
and  George's  mother  talking  to  her.  She 
often  traced  remembered  expressions  on  Mrs. 
Waldeaux's  face  ;  the  gayety,  the  sympathy,  a 
strange  foreboding  in  the  eyes.  Finer  mean 
ings,  surely,  than  any  in  the  features  of  these 
immortal  insipid  Madonnas! 

Sometimes  Lucy  could  not  decide  whether 
she  had  seen  these  meanings  on  Frances  Wal 
deaux's  face,  or  on  her  son's. 

She  sewed  until  late  in  the  afternoon. 
There  came  a  tap  at  the  door.  She  opened 
it,  and  there  stood  Mrs.  Waldeaux,  wrapped  in 
a  heavy  cloak.  Lucy  jumped  at  her,  trem 
bling,  and  hugged  her. 

"  Oh,  come  in !  Come  in ! "  she  cried 
shrilly.  "  I  have  just  been  thinking  of  you 
and  talking  to  you  !  " 

Frances   laughed,   bewildered.     "  Oh,    it    is 


126 


Miss  Dunbar?  The  man  sent  me  here  by 
mistake  to  wait.  Miss  Vance  is  out,  he 
said." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  But  I — I  am  here." 
Lucy  threw  her  arms  around  her  again,  laying 
her  head  down  on  her  shoulder.  She  felt  as  if 
something  that  she  had  waited  for  a  long  time 
was  coming  to  her.  "  Sit  by  the  stove.  Your 
hands  are  like  ice,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  I  am  usually  cold  now  ;  I  don't  know 
why." 

Lucy  then  saw  a  curious  change  in  her 
face.  The  fine  meanings  were  not  in  it  now. 
It  was  fatter — coarser ;  the  hair  was  dead,  the 
eyes  moved  sluggishly,  like  the  glass  eyes  of  a 
doll. 

"  You  are  always  cold  ?  Your  blood  is  thin, 
perhaps.  You  are  overtired,  dear.  Have  you 
travelled  much?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  all  of  the  time.  I  have  seen  whole 
tracts  of  pictures,  and  no  end  of  palaces  and 
hotels — hotels — hotels  ! "  Frances  said,  awaken 
ing  to  the  necessity  of  being  talkative  and 
vivacious  with  the  young  girl.  She  threw  off 
her  cloak.  There  was  a  rip  in  the  fur,  and 
the  dirty  lining  hung  out.  Lucy  shuddered. 


127 


Mrs.  Waldeaux's  blood  must  have  turned  to 
water,  or  she  would  never  have  permitted 
that ! 

"  You  must  rest  now.  I  will  take  care  of 
you,"  she  said,  with  a  little  nod  of  authority. 
Frances  looked  at  her  perplexed.  Why  should 
this  pretty  creature  mother  her  with  such 
tenderness  ? 

Oh  !  It  was  the  girl  that  George  should 
have  married  ! 

She  glanced  at  the  white  room  with  its 
dainty  bibelots,  the  Bible,  the  Madonnas, 
watching,  benign.  Poor  little  nun,  waiting  for 
the  love  that  never  could  come  to  her  ! 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  here,  my  child.  You 
can  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know.  I  have  not 
an  hour  to  spare.  I  am  going  to  my  son — to 
George.  Do  you  know  where  he  is  ?  " 

"  At  Vannes,  in  Brittany." 

"  Brittany — that  is  a  long  way."  Frances 
rose  uncertainly.  "  I  hoped  he  was  near.  I 
was  in  a  Russian  village,  and  Clara's  letter  was 
long  in  finding  me.  When  I  got  it,  I  travelled 
night  and  day.  I  somehow  thought  I  should 
meet  him  on  the  way.  I  fancied  he  would 
come  to  meet  me." 


128 


Lucy's  blue  eyes  watched  her  keenly  a 
moment.  Then  she  rang  the  bell. 

"  You  must  eat,  first  of  all,"  she  said. 

"  No,  I  am  not  hungry.  Vannes,  you  said  ? 
I  must  go  now.  I  haven't  an  hour." 

"You  have  two,  exactly.  You'll  take  the 
express  at  eight.  Oh,  I'm  never  mistaken 
about  a  train.  Here  is  the  coffee.  Now,  I'll 
make  you  a  nice  sandwich." 

Frances  was  faint  with  hunger.  As  she  ate, 
she  watched  the  pretty  matter-of-fact  little 
girl,  and  laughed  with  delight.  When  had  she 
found  any  thing  so  wholesome  ?  It  was  a 
year,  too,  since  she  had  seen  any  one  who 
knew  George.  Naturally,  she  began  to  empty 
her  heart,  which  was  full  of  him,  to  Lucy. 

"  I  have  not  spoken  English  for  months," 
she  said,  smiling  over  her  coffee.  "  It  is  a 
relief !  And  you  are  a  friend  of  my  son's,  too  ?  " 

"  No.  A  mere  acquaintance,"  said  Lucy, 
with  reserve. 

"  No  one  could  even  see  George  and  not 
understand  how  different  he  is  from  other 
men." 

"  Oh  !  altogether  different ! "  said  Lucy. 

"  Yes,  you  understand.     And  there  was  that 


I29 


future  before  him — when  his  trouble  came. 
Oh,  I've  thought  of  it,  and  thought  of  it,  until 
my  head  is  tired  !  He  fell  under  that  woman's 
influence,  you  see.  It  was  like  mesmerism,  or 
the  voodoo  curse  that  the  negroes  talk  of.  It 
came  on  me  too.  Why,  there  was  a  time 
when  I  despised  him.  George  ! "  Her  eyes 
grew  full  of  horror.  "  I  left  him,  to  live  my 
own  life.  He  has  staggered  under  his  burden 
alone,  and  I  could  have  rid  him  of  it.  Now 
there  are  two  of  them." 

"  Two  of  them  ?  "  said  Lucy  curiously. 

"  There  is  a  baby — Pauline  Felix's  grandson. 
I  beg  your  pardon,  my  child,  I  ought  not  to 
have  named  her.  She  is  not  a  person  whom 
you  should  ever  hear  of.  He  has  them  both, 
— George.  He  has  that  weight  to  carry." 
She  stood  up.  "  That  is  why  I  am  going  to 
him.  It  must  be  taken  from  him." 

"  You  mean — a  divorce  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — I  can't  think  clearly.  But 
God  does  such  queer  things  !  There  are  mill 
ions  of  men  in  the  world,  and  this  curse  falls 
on — George  !  " 

Lucy  put  her  hands  on  the  older  woman's 
arms  and  seated  her.  "  Mrs.  Waldeaux,"  she 

9 


130 


said,  with  decision,  "  you  need  sleep,  or  you 
would  not  talk  in  that  way.  Lisa  is  not  a 
curse.  Nor  a  voodoo  witch.  She  came  to 
your  son  instead  of  to  any  other  man — because 
he  chose  her  out  from  all  other  women.  He 
had  seen  them."  She  held  her  curly  head 
erect.  "  As  he  did  choose  her,  he  should  make 
the  best  of  her." 

Frances  looked  at  her  as  one  awakened  out 
of  a  dream.  "  You  talk  sensibly,  child.  Per 
haps  you  are  right.  But  I  must  go.  Ring  for 
a  cab,  please.  No,  I  will  wait  in  the  station. 
Clara  would  argue  and  lecture.  I  could  not 
stand  that  to-night,"  with  her  old  comical 
shrug. 

Lucy's   entreaties  were   vain. 

But  as  the  train  rushed  through  the  valley 
of  the  Isar  that  night,  Frances  looked  forward 
into  the  darkness  with  a  nameless  terror. 
"That  child  was  so  healthy  and  sane,"  she 
said,  "  I  wish  I  had  stayed  with  her  longer." 


CHAPTER  XII 

PRINCE  HUGO  had  made  no  secret  of  his 
intentions  with  regard  to  Miss  Dunbar,  so  that 
when  it  was  known  that  his  sisters  and  the 
rich  American  Mees  would  at  last  meet  at  the 
Countess  von  Amte's  there  was  a  flutter  of  curi 
osity  in  the  exclusive  circle  of  Munich.  The 
countess  herself  called  twice  on  Clara  that  day, 
so  great  was  her  triumph  that  this  social  event 
would  occur  at  her  house. 

She  asked  boldly  "  Which  of  Miss  Dunbar's 
marvellous  Parisian  confections  will  she  wear? 
It  is  so  important  for  her  future  happiness 
that  the  princesses  should  be  favorably  im 
pressed !  Aber,  lieber  Gott!"  she  shrieked, 
" don't  let  her  speak  French  !  Not  a  word! 
That  would  be  ruin  !  They  are  all  patriotism ! " 
She  hurried  away,  and  ran  back  to  say  that 
the  sun  was  shining  as  it  had  not  done  for 
days. 

"  She  thinks  nature  itself  is  agog  to  see  how 
the  princesses  receive  Lucy,"  said  Miss  Vance 


132 


indignantly.  "  One  would  suppose  that  the 
child  was  on  trial." 

"  So  she  is.  Me,  too,"  said  Jean,  wistfully 
regarding  the  be"b£  waist  of  the  gown  which 
Doucet  had  just  sent  her.  "  I  must  go  as  an 
ingenue.  I  don't  play  the  part  well ! " 

"  No,  you  do  not,"  said  Clara. 

Miss  Vance  tapped  at  Lucy's  door  as  she 
went  down,  and  found  her  working  at  her 
embroidery.  "You  must  lie  down  for  an 
hour,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  and  be  fresh  and 
rosy  for  this  evening." 

"  I  am  not  going.  I  must  finish  these  pinks. 
I  have  just  sent  a  note  of  apology  to  the 
countess." 

"Not  going!"  Clara  gasped,  dismayed. 
Then  she  laughed  with  triumph.  "The 
princesses  and  all  the  Herrschaft  of  Munich 
will  be  there  to  pass  judgment  on  the  bride, 
and  the  bride  will  be  sitting  at  home  finishing 
her  pinks !  Good  !  " 

"  I  am  no  bride ! "  Lucy  rose,  stuck  her 
needle  carefully  in  its  place,  and  came  closer  to 
Miss  Vance.  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind,"  she 
said  earnestly.  "  I  shall  never  marry.  My  life 
now  is  quiet  and  clean.  I'm  not  at  all  sure 


133 


that  it  would  be  either  if  I  were  the  Princess 
Wolfburgh." 

Clara  stroked  her  hair  fondly.  "Your  de 
cision  is  sudden,  my  dear,"  she  faltered,  at 
last. 

"Yes.  There  was  something  last  night.  It 
showed  me  what  I  was  doing.  To  marry  a 
man  just  because  he  is  good  and  kind,  that 
is — vile ! "  The  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes. 
There  was  a  short  silence. 

"  Don't  look  so  aghast,  dear  Miss  Vance," 
said  Lucy  cheerfully.  "  Go  now  and  dress  to 
meet  the  Herrschaft." 

"  And  what  will  you  do,  child  ?  " 

"  I  really  must  finish  these  pinks  to-night." 
She  took  up  her  work.  Her  chin  trembled  a 
little.  "  We  won't  speak  of  this  again,  please," 
she  said.  "  I  never  shall  be  a  bride  or  a  wife 
or  mother.  I  will  have  a  quiet,  independent 
life — like  yours." 

The  sunshine  fell  on  the  girl's  grave,  uplifted 
face,  on  the  white  walls,  the  blue  stove,  and 
the  calm,  watching  Madonnas.  Clara,  as  Mrs. 
Waldeaux  had  done,  thought  of  a  nun  in  her 
cell  to  whom  love  could  only  be  a  sacred 
dream. 


134 


She  smiled  back  at  Lucy,  bade  her  good 
night,  and  closed  the  door. 

"  Like  mine  ?  "  she  said,  as  she  went  down 
the  corridor.  "  Well,  it  is  a  comfortable,  quiet 

life.  But  empty "  And  she  laid  her  hand 

suddenly  across  her  thin  breast. 

Jean  listened  in  silence  when  Clara  told  her 
briefly  that  Lucy  was  not  going. 

"  She  is  very  shrewd,"  she  said  presently. 
"  She  means  to  treat  them  de  haut  en  has  from 
the  outset.  It  is  capital  policy." 

Jean,  when  she  entered  the  countess's  salon, 
with  downcast  eyes,  draped  in  filmy  lace  with 
out  a  jewel  or  flower,  was  shy  innocence  in 
person.  Furst  Hugo  stood  near  the  hostess, 
with  two  stout  women  in  shabby  gowns  and 
magnificent  jewels. 

"The  frocks  they  made  themselves,  and  the 
emeralds  are  heirlooms,"  Jean  muttered  to 
Clara,  without  lifting  her  timid  eyes. 

"Miss  Dunbar  is  not  coming?"  exclaimed 
the  prince. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Vance. 

" The  Fraulein  is  ill?"  demanded  one  of 
his  sisters. 


135 


"  No,"  Clara  said,  again  smiling. 

"  We  expected  to  meet  her,"  the  younger 
princess  said.  "  It  is  most  singular " 

"  She  has  sent  her  apology  to  the  countess," 
said  Clara  gently,  and  passed  on. 

But  her  little  triumph  was  short  lived. 

A  famous  professional  soprano  appeared  in 
a  white-ribboned  enclosure  at  the  end  of  the 
salon,  and  the  guests  were  rapidly  arranged 
according  to  their  rank  to  listen.  Clara  and 
Jean  stood  until  every  man  and  .woman  were 
comfortably  seated,  when  they  were  placed 
in  the  back  row. 

When  the  music  was  over  supper  was 
announced,  and  the  same  ceremony  was 
observed.  The  Highnessess,  the  hoch- 
wohlgeboren  privy  councillors,  the  hochge- 
boren  secretaries,  even  the  untitled  Herren 
who  held  some  petty  office,  were  ushered  with 
profound  deference  to  their  seats  at  the  long 
table,  while  Clara  stood  waiting.  Jean's  eyes 
still  drooped  meekly,  but  even  her  lips  were 
pale. 

"  How  can  you  look  so  placid  ?  "  she  whis 
pered.  "  It  is  a  deliberate  insult  to  your  gray 
hairs." 


I36 


"  No.  It  is  the  custom  of  the  country.  It 
does  not  hurt  me." 

They  were  led  at  the  moment  to  the  lowest 
seats.  Jean  shot  one  vindictive  glance  around 
the  table. 

"  You  have  more  wit  and  breeding  than  any 
of  them  !  "  she  said.  "  And  as  for  me,  this 
lace  I  wear  would  buy  any  of  their  rickety  old 
palaces." 

"They  have  something  which  we  cannot 
buy,"  said  Miss  Vance  gravely.  "  I  never 
understood  before  how  actual  a  thing  rank  is 
here." 

"Cannot  it  be  bought?  I  am  going  to  look 
into  that  when  this  huge  feed  is  over,"  Miss 
Hassard  said  to  herself. 

Late  in  the  evening  she  danced  with  Count 
Odo,  and  prattled  to  him  in  a  childish,  frank 
fashion  which  he  found  very  charming. 

"  Your  rules  of  precedence  are  very  disagree 
able  !"  she  pouted.  "  Especially  when  one  sits 
at  the  foot  of  the  table  and  is  served  last." 

"  They  must  seem  queer  to  you,"  he  said, 
laughing,  "  but  they  are  inflexible  as  iron." 

"  But  they  will  bend  for  Miss  Dunbar,  if  she 
makes  up  her  mind  to  marry  your  cousin  ? " 


137 


she  asked,  looking  up  into  his  face  like  an  inno 
cent  child. 

"  No.  Hugo  makes  a  serious  sacrifice  in 
marrying  a  woman  of  no  birth,"  he  said.  "  He 
must  give  up  his  place  and  title  as  head  of  the 
family.  She  will  not  be  received  at  court  nor 
in  certain  houses ;  she  must  always  remain  out 
side  of  much  of  his  social  life." 

He  led  her  back  to  Miss  Vance.  She  seemed 
to  be  struck  dumb,  and  even  forgot  to  smile 
when  he  bowed  low  and  thanked  her  for  the 
dance. 

"  Let  us  go  home,"  she  whispered  to  Clara. 
"The  American  girl  is  a  fool  who  marries  one 
of  these  men  !  " 

When  Miss  Vance's  carriage  reached  her 
hotel,  she  found  Prince  Hugo's  coupt  before 
the  door. 

"  He  has  come  to  see  Lucy,  alone  !  "  she 
said  indignantly,  as  she  hurried  up  the  steps. 
"  He  has  no  right  to  annoy  her  !  " 

She  met  him  coming  out  of  the  long  salle. 
The  little  man  walked  nervously,  fingering  his 
sword  hilt.  He  could  not  control  his  voice 
when  he  tried  to  speak  naturally. 

"  Yes,  gracious  lady,  I  am  guilty.     It  was 


138 


unpardonable  to  come  when  I  knew  the 
chaperone  was  gone.  But — ach!  I  could  not 
wait !  "  throwing  out  both  hands  to  her.  "  I 
have  waited  so  long  !  I  knew  when  she  did 
not  come  to  meet  my  sisters  to-night  she  had 
resolved  against  me,  but  I  could  not  sleep  un 
certain.  So  I  break  all  the  laws,  and  come  !  " 

"You  have  seen  her,  then?  She  has  told 
you?" 

He  nodded  without  speaking.  His  round 
face  was  red,  and  something  like  tears  stood  in 
his  eyes. 

He  waited  irresolute  a  moment,  and  then 
threw  up  his  head. 

"  Soh  !  It  is  over  !  I  shall  not  whine  !  You 
have  been  very  good  to  me,"  he  said  earnestly, 
taking  Clara's  hand.  "  This  is  the  first  great 
trouble  in  my  life.  I  have  loved  her  very 
dearly.  I  decided  to  make  great  sacrifices  for 
her.  But  I  am  not  to  have  her — never." 
.  "  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  prince."  Clara 
squeezed  his  hand  energetically. 

"  Nor  her  dot.  That  would  have  been  so 
comfortable  for  me,"  he  said  simply. 

Clara  hid  a  smile,  and  bade  him  an  affection 
ate  good-night. 


I3Q 


As  he  passed  into  the  outer  salle  a  childish 
figure  in  creamy  lace  rose  before  him,  and  a 
soft  hand  was  held  out.  "  I  know  what  has 
happened!"  she  whispered  passionately.  "She 
has  treated  you  scandalously !  She  cannot 
appreciate  you  !  " 

Prince  Hugo  stuttered  and  coughed  and 
almost  kissed  the  little  hand  which  lay  so 
trustingly  in  his.  He  found  himself  safely  out 
side  at  last,  and  drove  away,  wretched  to  the 
soul. 

But  below  his  wretchedness  something  whis 
pered  :  "  She  appreciates  me,  and  her  dot  is 
quite  as  large." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

GEORGE  WALDEAUX  hummed  a  tune  gayly 
as  he  climbed  the  winding  maze  of  streets  in 
Vannes,  one  cloudy  afternoon,  with  Lisa. 

"  It  is  impertinent  to  be  modern  Americans 
in  this  old  town,"  he  said.  "  We  might  play 
that  we  were  jongleurs,  and  that  it  was  still 
mediaeval  times.  I  am  sure  the  gray  walls  yon 
der  and  the  fortress  houses  in  this  street  have 
not  changed  in  ages." 

"  Neither  have  the  smells,  apparently,"  said 
Lisa  grimly.  "Wrap  this  scarf  about  your 
throat,  George.  You  coughed  last  night." 

George  tied  up  his  throat.  "  Coughed,  did 
I  ? "  he  said  anxiously.  He  had  had  a  cold 
last  winter,  and  his  wife  with  her  poultices  and 
fright  had  convinced  him  that  he  was  a  con 
firmed  invalid.  The  coming  of  her  baby  had 
given  to  the  woman  a  motherly  feeling  toward 
all  of  the  world,  even  to  her  husband. 

"  Look  at  these  women,"  he  said,  going  on 
with  his  fancy  presently.  "  I  am  sure  that 


they  were  here  wearing  these  black  gowns  and 
huge  red  aprons  in  the  twelfth  century.  What 
is  this  ?  "  he  said,  stopping  abruptly,  to  a  boy 
of  six  who  was  digging  mud  at  the  foot  of  an 
ancient  ivy-covered  tower. 

"C'est  le  tour  du  Constable,"  the  child 
lisped.  "  Et  v'la,  monsieur!"  pointing  to  a 
filthy  pen  with  a  gate  of  black  oak ;  "  v'la  le 
donjon  de  Clisson  !  " 

"  Who  was  Clisson  ?  "  said  Lisa  impatiently. 

"  A  live  man  to  Froissart — and  to  this  boy," 
said  George,  laughing.  "  I  told  you  that  we  had 
gone  back  seven  centuries.  This  fog  comes  in 
from  the  Morbihan  sea  where  Arthur  and  his 
knights  went  sailing  to  find  the  Holy  Greal. 
They  have  not  come  back.  And  south 
yonder  is  the  country  of  the  Druids.  I  will 
take  you  to-morrow  and  show  you  twenty 
thousand  of  their  menhirs,  and  then  we  will 
sail  away  to  an  island  where  there  is  an  altar 
that  the  serpent  worshippers  built  ages  before 
Christ." 

Lisa  laughed.  He  was  not  often  in  this 
playful  mood.  She  panted  as  she  toiled  up 
the  dark  little  street,  a  step  behind  him,  but 
he  did  not  think  of  giving  her  his  arm.  He 


142 


had  grown  accustomed  to  regard  himself  as 
the  invalid  now,  and  the  one  who  needed 
care. 

"  I  am  going  for  letters,"  he  called  back,  div 
ing  into  a  dingy  alley.  The  baby  and  its 
bonne  were  near  Lisa.  The  child  never  was 
out  of  her  sight  for  a  moment.  She  waited, 
standing  a  little  apart  from  Colette  to  watch 
whether  the  passers-by  would  notice  the  baby. 
When  one  or  two  of  the  gloomy  and  stolid 
women  who  hurried  past  in  their  wooden 
sabots  clicked  their  ringers  to  it,  she  could  not 
help  smiling  gayly  and  bidding  them  good- 
day. 

The  fog  was  stifling.  As  she  waited  she 
gave  a  tired  gasp.  Colette  ran  to  her.  "  Ma 
dame  is  going  to  be  ill !  " 

"  No,  no  !     Don't  frighten  monsieur." 

George  came  out  of  the  gate  at  the 
moment. 

"Going  to  faint  again,  Lisa?"  he  said,  with 
an  annoyed  glance  around  the  street.  "  Your 
attacks  do  choose  the  most  malapropos 
times " 

"  Oh,  dear  no,  George  !  I  am  quite  well — 
quite."  She  walked  beside  him  with  an  airy 


143 


step,  laughing  gayly  now  and  then,  but 
George's  frown  deepened. 

"  I  don't  understand  these  seizures  at  all," 
he  said.  "  You  seem  to  be  in  sound  physical 
condition." 

"  Oh,  all  women  have  queer  turns,  George." 

"  Did  you  consult  D'Abri,  as  I  told  you  to 
do,  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes !  Now  let  us  talk  no  more  about 
it.  I  have  had  these — symptoms  since  I  was  a 
child." 

"You  never  told  me  of  them  before  we 
were  married,"  he  muttered. 

Lisa  scowled  darkly  at  him,  but  she  glanced 
at  the  baby  and  her  mouth  closed.  Little 
Jacques  should  never  hear  her  rage  nor  swear. 

From  an  overhanging  gable  at  the  street 
corner  looked  down  a  roughly  hewn  stone 
Madonna.  The  arms  of  the  Holy  Child  were 
outstretched  to  bless.  Lisa  paused  before  it, 
crossing  herself.  A  strange  joy  filled  her 
heart. 

"  I  too  am  a  mother  !  I  too  !  "  she  said. 
She  hurried  after  George  and  clung  to  his  arm 
as  they  went  home. 

"  Was  there  any  letter?"  she  asked. 


144 


"  Only  one  from  Munich — Miss  Vance.  I 
haven't  opened  it." 

"  I  thought  your  mother  would  write.  She 
must  have  heard  about  the  boy  !  " 

George's  face  grew  dark.  "  No,  she'll  not 
write.  Nor  come." 

"You  wish  for  her  every  day,  George?" 
She  looked  at  him  wistfully. 

"Yes,  I  do.  She  and  I  were  comrades  to 
a  queer  degree.  I  long  for  something  hearty 
and  homelike  again.  See  here,  Lisa.  I'm  going 
home  before  my  boy  begins  to  talk.  I  mean 
he  shall  grow  up  under  wholesome  American 
influences — not  foreign." 

"  Not  foreign,"  she  repeated  gravely.  She 
was  silent  a  while.  "  I  have  thought  much  of 
it  all  lately,"  she  said  at  last.  "  It  will  be 
wholesome  for  Jacques  on  your  farm.  Horses 

— dogs Your  mother  will  love  him.  She 

can't  help  it.  She — I  acted  like  a  beast  to 
that  woman,  George.  I'll  say  that.  She  hit 
me  hard.  But  she  has  good  traits.  She  is  not 
unlike  my  own  mother." 

George  said  nothing.  God  forbid  that  he 
should  tell  her,  even  by  a  look,  that  she  and  her 
mother  were  of  a  caste  different  from  his  own. 


145 


But  he  was  bored  to  the  soul  by  the  differ 
ence  ;  he  was  tired  of  her  ignorances,  which 
she  showed  every  minute,  of  her  ghastly,  un 
clean  knowledges — which  she  never  showed. 

They  came  into  the  courtyard  of  the  Chateau 
de  la  Motte,  the  ancient  castle  of  the  Breton 
dukes,  which  is  now  an  inn.  The  red  sunset 
flamed  up  behind  the  sad  little  town  and  its 
gray  old  houses  and  spires  massed  on  the  hill, 
and  the  black  river  creeping  by.  George's 
eyes  kindled  at  the  sombre  picture. 

"In  this  very  court,"  he  said,  "Constance 
stood  when  she  summoned  the  States  of  Brit 
tany  to  save  her  boy  Arthur  from  King  John." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  have  read  of  it  to  me  in  your 
Shakespeare.  It  is  one  of  his  unpleasant 
stories.  Come,  Bebe.  It  grows  damp." 

As  she  climbed  the  stone  stairway  with  the 
child,  Colette  lingered  to  gossip  with  the  por- 
tier.  "  Poor  lady  !  You  will  adore  her !  She 
is  one  of  us.  But  she  makes  of  that  bete 
Anglais  and  the  ugly  child,  saints  and  gods!  " 

When  George  presently  came  up  to  their 
bare  little  room,  Lisa  was  singing  softly,  as  she 
rocked  Jacques  to  sleep. 

"  Can't  you   sing  the  boy  something  a  bit 


146 


more  cheerful  ?  "  he  said.     "  You  used  to  know 
some  jolly  catches  from  the  music  halls." 

"Catches  for  him  f"  with  a  frightened  look 
at  the  child's  shut  eyes. 

"  The  '  Adeste  Fideles  '  is  moral,  but  it  is  not 
a  merry  air.  You  sing  it  morning,  noon,  and 
night,"  he  grumbled. 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,  laying  the  child  in  its 
crib.  "  One  never  knows  how  much  he  under 
stands,  and  he  may  remember,  I  thought. 
Some  day  when  he  is  a  great  boy,  he  may  hear 
it  and  he'll  think,  '  My  mother  sang  that 
hymn.  She  must  have  been  a  good  woman  ! ' ' 

"  Nonsense,  Lisa,"  said  George  kindly. 
"You'll  teach  him  every  day,  while  he  is  grow 
ing  to  be  a  great  boy,  that  you  are  a  good 
woman." 

She  said  nothing,  but  stood  on  the  other 
side  of  the  crib  looking  at  him. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ? "  said  George  uneasily. 
"  You  look  at  me  as  if  somebody  were  drag 
ging  you  away  from  me." 

She  laughed.  "  What  ridiculous  fancies  you 
have  !  "  She  came  behind  him  and,  drawing 
his  head  back,  kissed  him  on  the  forehead. 
"  Oh,  you  poor,  foolish  boy  !  "  she  said. 


147 


Lisa  sat  down  to  her  work,  which  was  the 
making  of  garments  for  Jacques  out  of  her 
own  gowns.  She  was  an  expert  needlewoman, 
and  had  already  a  pile  of  fantastic  kilts  of 
cloth  and  velvet. 

"  Enough  to  last  until  he  is  ten  years  old," 
George  said  contemptuously.  "  And  you  will 
not  leave  a  gown  for  yourself." 

"  There  will  be  all  I  shall  need,"  she  said. 

He  turned  up  the  lamp  and  opened  Clara's 
letter. 

Lisa's  needle  flew  through  the  red  and  yel 
low  silk.  It  was  pleasant  work;  she  was 
doing  it  skilfully.  The  fire  warmed  her  thin 
blood.  She  could  hear  the  baby's  regular, 
soft  breathing  as  it  slept.  A  pleasure  that  was 
almost  like  health  stole  through  her  lean  body. 
She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  looking  at 
Jacques.  In  three  years  he  could  wear  the 
velvet  suit  with  the  cap  and  pompon.  His 
hair  would  be  yellow  and  curly,  like  his  fath 
er's.  But  his  eyes  would  be  like  her  mother's. 
She  pressed  her  hands  together,  laughing,  the 
hot  tears  rushing  to  her  eyes.  "Ah,  ma- 
man  !  "  she  said.  "  Do  you  know  that  your 
little  girl  has  a  baby  ?  Can  you  see  him  ?  " 


148 


What  a  superb  "  great  boy  "  he  would  be ! 
He  should  go  to  a  military  school.  Yes! 
She  lay  back  in  her  chair,  watching  him. 

George  suddenly  started  up  with  a  cry  of 
amazement. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  said  indifferently. 

He  did  not  answer,  but  turned  the  letter 
and  read  it  over  again.  Then  he  folded  it 
with  shaking  fingers. 

"  I  have  news  here.  Miss  Vance  thinks  it 
time  that  I  was  told,  and  I  agree  with  her.  It 
appears  that  I  am  a  pauper,  and  always  have 
been.  My  father  died  penniless." 

"  Then  Jacques  will  be  poor  ?  " 

"  Jacques !  You  think  of  nothing  but  that 
mewling,  senseless  thing!  It  is  mother — 
she  always  has  supported  me.  We  are  living 
now  on  the  money  that  she  earns  from  week 
to  week,  while  I  play  that  I  am  an  artist !  " 

Lisa  listened  attentively.  "  It  does  not 
seem  strange  that  a  mother  should  work  for 
her  son,"  she  said  slowly.  "But  she  has 
never  told  us  !  That  is  fine  !  I  like  that !  I 
told  you  she  had  very  good  traits." 

George  stared  at  her.  "  But— me  !  Don't 
you  see  what  a  cad  I  am  ?  " 


149 


He  paced  up  and  down,  muttering,  and  then 
throwing  on  his  hat  went  out  into  the  night 
to  be  alone. 

Lisa  sank  back  again  and  watched  Jacques. 
At  military  school,  yes ;  and  after  he  had  left 
school  he  would  be  a  soldier,  perhaps.  Such 
a  gallant  young  fellow  ! 

She  leaned  over  the  cradle,  holding  out  her 
hands.  Ah,  God  !  if  she  could  but  live  to 
see  it !  Surely  it  might  be  ?  There  was  no 
pain  now.  Doctors  were  not  infallible — even 
D'Abri  might  be  mistaken,  after  all. 

George,  coming  in  an  hour  later,  found  her 
sitting  with  her  hands  covering  her  face. 

"Are  you  asleep,  Lisa?" 

-No." 

"There  is  a  telegram  from  Clara.  My 
mother  has  left  Munich  for  Vannes.  She  will 
be  here  in  two  days." 

She  rose  with  an  effort.  "  I  am  glad  for 
you,  George." 

"You  are  ill,  Lisa!" 

"  A  little  tired,  only.  Colette  will  give  me 
my  powder,  and  I  shall  be  quite  well  in  the 
morning.  Will  you  send  her  to  me  now  ?  " 

After  George  was  gone  the  rumbling  of  a 


150 


diligence  was  heard  in  the  courtyard,  and  pres 
ently  a  woman  was  brought  up  to  the  opposite 
chamber. 

The  hall  was  dark.  Looking  across  it, 
Frances  Waldeaux  saw  in  the  lighted  room 
Lisa  and  her  child. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BEFORE  we  come  to  the  dark  story  of  that 
night  in  the  inn,  it  is  but  fair  to  Frances  to 
say  that  she  came  there  with  no  definite  evil 
purpose.  She  had  been  cheerful  on  her 
journey  from  Munich.  There  was  one  clear 
fact  in  her  brain  :  She  was  on  her  way  to 
George. 

The  countless  toy  farms  of  southern 
France,  trimmed  neatly  by  the  inch,  swept 
past  her.  In  Brittany  came  melancholy 
stretches  of  brown  heath  and  rain-beaten  hills ; 
or  great  affluent  estates,  the  manor  houses 
covered  with  thatch,  stagnant  pools  close  to 
the  doors,  the  cattle  breaking  through  the 
slovenly  wattled  walls.  Frances,  being  a 
farmer,  felt  a  vague  amusement  at  these  things, 
but  they  were  all  dim  to  her  as  a  faded  land 
scape  hanging  on  the  wall. 

She  was  going  to  George. 

Sometimes  she  seemed  to  be  in  Lucy's  room 
again,  with  the  sweet,  clean  air  of  youth  about 


152 


her.  All  of  that  purity  and  love  might  have 
gone  into  George's  life — before  it  fell  into  the 
slough. 

But  she  was  going  now  to  take  it  out  of  the 
slough. 

There  was  a  merchant  and  his  wife  from 
Geneva  in  the  carriage  with  their  little  boy,  a 
pretty  child  of  five.  Frances  played  and  joked 
with  him. 

"  Has  madam  also  a  son  ? "  his  mother 
asked  civilly. 

She  said  yes,  and  presently  added,  "  My  son 
has  now  a  great  trouble,  but  I  am  going  to 
relieve  him  of  it." 

The  woman,  startled,  stared  at  her. 

"  Is  it  not  right  for  me  to  rid  him  of  it  ?  " 
she  demanded  loudly. 

"  Mais  oui,  certainement !  "  said  the  Swiss. 
She  watched  Frances  after  that  furtively.  Her 
eyes,  she  thought,  were  quite  sane.  But  how 
eccentric  all  of  these  Americans  were  ! 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  reached  Vannes  at  night 
fall.  At  last !  Here  was  the  place  in  this 
great  empty  world  where  he  was. 

When  the  diligence  entered  the  courtyard, 
George  was  so  near  to  the  gate  that  the  smoke 


153 


of  his  cigar  was  blown  into  her  face,  but  he  did 
not  see  her.  He  was  lean  and  pale,  and  his 
eyes  told  his  misery.  When  she  saw  them  his 
mother  grew  sick  from  head  to  foot  with  a 
sudden  nausea.  This  was  his  wife's  doing. 
She  was  killing  him  !  Frances  hurried  into  the 
inn,  her  legs  giving  way  under  her.  She  could 
not  speak  to  him.  She  must  think  what  to  do. 

She  was  taken  to  her  room.  It  was  dark, 
and  across  the  corridor  she  saw  Lisa  in  her 
lighted  chamber.  This  was  good  .luck  !  God 
had  put  the  creature  at  once  into  her  hands  to 
deal  with ! 

She  was  conscious  of  a  strange  exaltation, 
as  if  from  wine — as  if  she  would  never  need  to 
sleep  nor  eat  again.  Her  thoughts  came  and 
went  like  flashes  of  fire.  She  watched  Lisa 
as  she  would  a  vampire,  a  creeping  deadly 
beast.  Pauline  Felix — all  that  was  adulter 
ous  and  vile  in  women — there  it  was  ! 

Her  mind  too,  as  never  before,  was  full  of  a 
haughty  complacency  in  herself.  She  felt  like 
the  member  of  some  petty  sect  who  is  sure 
that  God  communes  with  him  inside  of  his 
altar  rails,  while  the  man  is  outside  whom  he 
believes  that  God  made  only  to  be  damned. 


154 


Lisa  began  to  undress.  Frances  quickly 
turned  away,  ashamed  of  peeping  into  her  cham 
ber.  But  the  one  fact  burned  on  into  her  brain : 

The  woman  was  killing  George. 

If  God  would  rid  the  world  of  her!  If  a 
storm  should  rise  now,  and  the  lightning  strike 
the  house,  and  these  stone  walls  should  fall  on 
her,  now — now ! 

But  the  walls  stood  firm  and  the  moonlight 
shone  tranquilly  on  the  world  outside. 

She  told  herself  to  be  calm — to  be  just. 
But  there  was  no  justice  while  this  woman 
went  on  with  her  work !  God  saw.  He 
meant  her  to  be  stopped.  Frances  prayed  to 
him  frantically  that  Lisa  might  soon  be  put  off 
of  the  earth.  Just  as  the  Catholic  used  to  pray 
before  he  massacred  the  Huguenot,  or  the 
Protestant,  when  he  tied  his  Catholic  brother 
to  the  stake.  If  this  woman  was  mad  for 
blood,  it  was  a  madness  that  many  sincere 
people  have  shared. 

Colette  was  busy  with  her  mistress  for  a 
long  time.  She  was  very  gentle  and  tender, 
being  fond  of  Lisa,  as  people  of  her  class 
always  were.  She  raised  her  voice  as  she 
made  ready  to  leave  the  room. 


155 


"  If  the  pain  returns,  here  is  the  powder  of 
morphia,  mixed,  within  madame's  reach,"  she 
said. 

Frances  came  close  to  the  door. 

"  And  if  it  continues?  "  asked  Lisa. 

"  Let  monsieur  call  me.  I  would  not  trust 
him  to  measure  a  powder,"  Colette  said,  laugh 
ing.  "  It  is  too  dangerous.  He  is  not  used  to 
it— like  me." 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  saw  her  lay  a  paper  package 
on  a  shelf. 

"  I  will  pray  that  the  pain  will  not  return," 
the  girl  said.  "  But  if  it  does,  let  monsieur 
knock  at  my  door.  Here  is  the  tisane  when 
you  are  thirsty."  She  placed  a  goblet  of 
milky  liquid  near  the  bed. 

What  more  she  said  Frances  did  not  hear. 

It  was  to  be  !  There  was  the  morphia,  and 
yonder  the  night  drink  within  her  reach.  It 
was  God's  will. 

Colette  turned  out  the  lamp,  hesitated,  and 
sat  down  by  the  fire.  Presently  she  rose  softly, 
bent  over  her  mistress,  and,  finding  her  asleep, 
left  the  room  noiselessly.  Her  door  closed  far 
down  the  corridor. 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  was  quite  alone,  now. 


I56 


It  was  but  a  step  across  the  hall.  So  easy 
to  do — easy.  It  must  be  done  at  once. 

But  her  feet  were  like  lead,  she  could  not 
move  ;  her  tongue  lay  icy  cold  in  her  mouth. 
Her  soul  was  willing,  but  her  body  rebelled. 

What  folly  was  this  ?  It  was  the  work  of  a 
moment.  George  would  be  free.  She  would 
have  freed  him. 

In  God's  name  then 

She  crossed  the  hall  softly.  Into  the  hell 
of  her  thoughts  flashed  a  little  womanish 
shame,  that  she,  Frances  Waldeaux,  should  be 
walking  on  tiptoe,  like  a  thief. 

She  took  down  the  package,  and  leaning 
over  the  table  at  the  side  of  the  bed,  shook 
the  white  powder  into  the  glass.  Then  she 
went  back  to  her  room  and  shut  the  door. 

The  casement  was  open  and  the  moonlight 
was  white  outside.  She  was  conscious  that 
the  glare  hurt  her  eyes,  and  that  ,there  was  a 
strange  stricture  about  her  jaws  and  the  base 
of  her  brain,  like  an  iron  hand. 

It  seemed  to  her  but  a  minute  that  she 
stood  there,  but  the  dawn  was  breaking  when 
there  was  a  sudden  confusion  in  the  opposite 


157 


room.  She  heard  Colette's  voice,  and  then 
George's,  calling  Lisa. 

There  was  no  answer. 

Frances  stood  up,  to  listen.  "  Will  she  not 
speak  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Make  her  speak  !  " 

But  in  reality  she  said  nothing.  Even  her 
breath  had  stopped  to  listen. 

There  was  no  answer. 

Frances  was  awake  now,  for  the  rest  of  her 
life.  She  knew  what  she  had  done. 

"  Why,  George,"  she  said,  "  she  cannot 
speak.  She  is  dead.  I  did  it." 

She  stood  in  the  room  a  minute,  looking 
from  side  to  side,  and  then  went  with  meas 
ured  steps  out  of  it,  down  the  corridor  and 
into  the  street. 

"  I  did  it,"  she  said  to  herself  again  and 
again,  as  she  walked  slowly  on. 

The  old  cathedral  is  opposite  to  the  inn. 
Her  eyes,  as  she  passed,  rested  on  the  gargoyles, 
and  she  thought  how  fine  they  were.  One 
was  a  ridiculous  head  with  lolling  tongue. 

A  priest's  voice  inside  was  chanting  mass. 
A  dozen  Breton  women  in  their  huge  white 
winged  caps  and  wooden  shoes  hurried  up  to 
the  door,  through  the  gray  fog.  They  met 


158 


Mrs.  Waldeaux  and  saw  her  face.  They 
huddled  to  one  side,  crossing  themselves,  and 
when  she  passed,  stood  still,  forgetting  the 
mass  and  looking,  frightened,  up  the  steep 
street  behind  her  to  find  what  horror  had  pur 
sued  her. 

"  They  know  what  I  have  done,"  she  said 
aloud. 

Once  when  she  was  a  child  she  had  acci 
dentally  seen  a  bloated  wretch,  a  murderer, 
on  his  way  to  the  gallows. 

"  I  am  he,"  she  thought.     "  I—/,  Frances." 

Then  the  gargoyle  came  into  her  mind 
again.  What  a  capital  headpiece  it  would 
make  for  "  Quigg's "  next  column!  It  was 
time  this  week's  jokes  were  sent. 

But  at  last  these  ghosts  of  yesterday's  life 
faded  out,  and  she  saw  the  fact. 

She  had  hated  her  son's  wife  and  had  killed 
her! 


CHAPTER  XV 

WHEN  the  sun  was  well  up  the  women  who 
had  been  at  mass  gathered  down  by  the  little 
river  which  runs  through  the  old  city,  to  wash 
their  clothes.  They  knelt  on  the  broad  stones 
by  the  edge  of  the  water,  chattering  and  sing 
ing,  tossing  the  soap  from  one  to  another. 

There  was  a  sudden  silence.  "  Here  she  is 
again,"  they  whispered,  as  a  slight,  delicate 
woman  crossed  the  bridge  with  steady  steps. 

"  She  is  blind  and  deaf,"  said  old  Barbe.  "  I 
met  her  an  hour  ago  and  asked  her  whom  she 
sought.  She  did  not  see  nor  hear  me,  but 
walked  straight  on." 

Oliver  Bauzy  was  lounging  near,  as  usual, 
watching  his  wife  work. 

"  She  is  English.  What  does  she  know  of 
your  Breton  talk?  I  speak  English  and 
French — I ! "  he  bragged,  and  walking  up  to 
Mrs.  Waldeaux,  he  flourished  his  ragged  hat, 
smiling.  "Is  madame  ill?  She  has  walked 
far,"  he  said  kindly. 


i  Co 


The  English  words  seemed  to  waken  her. 
"  It  is  always  the  town/'  looking  around  be 
wildered.  "  The  people — houses.  I  think  I 
am  not  well.  If  I  could  find  the  woods " 

Bauzy  had  but  a  hazy  idea  of  her  meaning, 
but  he  nodded  gravely.  "  She  is  a  tourist. 
She  wants  to  go  out  of  Vannes — to  see  the 
chateaux,  the  dolmens.  I'm  her  man.  I'll 
drive  her  to  Larmor  Baden,"  he  said  to  his 
wife.  "  I  have  to  go  there  to-day,  and  I  may  as 
well  make  a  franc  or  two.  Keep  her  until  I 
bring  the  voiture" 

But  Frances  stood  motionless  until  the  old 
wagon  rattled  up  to  the  water's  edge. 

"  She  has  a  dear  old  face,"  Bauzy's  wife 
whispered. 

"She  is  blind  and  deaf,  I  tell  you,"  old 
Barbe  grumbled,  peering  up  at  her.  "  Make 
her  pay,  Oliver,  before  you  go." 

Bauzy  nodded,  and  when  Frances  was  seated 
held  out  his  hand. 

"Twenty  francs,"  he  said. 

She  opened  her  bag  and  gave  them  to  him. 

"  She  must  be  folle  !  "  he  said  uneasily.  "  I 
feel  like  a  thief.  Away  with  you,  Babette  !  "  as 
a  pretty  baby  ran  up  to  him.  "  You  want  to 


ride?  That  is  impossible.  Unless,  indeed, 
madame  desires  it?"  lifting  the  child  to  place 
her  on  the  seat.  Babette  laughed  and  held 
out  her  hands. 

But  Mrs.  Waldeaux  shrank  back,  shuddering. 
"  Take  her  away,"  she  whispered.  "  She  must 
not  touch  me!  " 

The  mother  seized  the  child,  and  the  women 
all  talked  vehemently  at  once.  Oliver  climbed 
into  the  voiture  and  drove  off  in  silence. 
When  he  looked  around  presently  he  saw  that 
the  woman's  face  was  bloodless,  and  a  cold 
sweat  stood  on  it. 

He  considered  a  while.  "  You  want  food," 
he  said,  and  brought  out  some  hard  bread  and 
a  jug  of  Normandy  cider. 

Frances  shook  her  head.  She  only  spoke 
once  during  the  morning,  and  then  told  him 
something  about  a  woman  "  whom  no  child 
could  touch.  No  man  or  woman  could  touch 
her  as  long  as  she  lived.  Not  even  her  son." 

As  Bauzy  could  make  nothing  of  this,  he 
could  only  nod  and  laugh  civilly.  But  pres 
ently  he,  too,  grew  silent,  glancing  at  her 
uncomfortably  from  time  to  time. 

They  drove  through  great  red  fields  of  sar- 
ii 


l62 


asson,  hedged  by  long  banks  of  earth,  which 
were  masses  of  golden  gorse  and  bronzed  and 
crimson  ferns.  The  sun  shone,  the  clover- 
scented  air  was  full  of  the  joyous  buzzing  of 
bees  and  chirp  of  birds. 

"  It  is  a  gay,  blessed  day ! "  Bauzy  said, 
"  thanks  to  the  good  God  !  "  He  waited  anx 
iously  for  her  reply,  but  she  stared  into  the 
sunshine  and  said  nothing. 

Larmor  Baden  is  a  lonely  little  cluster  of 
gray  stone  huts  on  the  shore  of  the  Morbihan 
sea.  Some  of  Bauzy's  friends  lounged  smiling 
up  to  welcome  him,  waving  their  wide  black 
hats  with  velvet  streamers,  and  bowing  low  to 
the  lady.  Oliver  alighted  with  decision.  One 
thing  he  knew :  He  would  not  drive  back 
with  her.  Something  was  amiss.  He  would 
wash  his  hands  of  her. 

"  Here,  madame,  is  Vincent  Selo,  paysa- 
geur"  he  said  rapidly  in  French.  "  He  has  a 
good  boat.  He  will  take  you  where  you  de 
sire.  Sail  with  her  to  Gavr'  Inis,"  he  said  to 
Selo,  "  and  bring  her  back  at  her  pleasure. 
Somebody  can  drive  her  back  to  Vannes,  and 
don't  overcharge  her,  you  robbers ! " 

"  Gavr'  Inis?"  Frances  repeated. 


163 


"  It  is  an  island  in  the  sea  yonder,  madame. 
A  quiet  place  of  trees.  When  there  was  not  a 
man  in  the  world,  evil  spirits  built  there  an 
altar  for  the  worship  of  the  devil.  No  men 
could  have  built  it.  There  are  huge  stones 
carried  there  from  the  mountains  far  inland, 
that  no  engine  could  lift.  It  is  a  great 
mystery." 

"  It  is  the  one  place  in  the  world,  people 
say,"  interrupted  Selo,  lowering  his  voice, 
"  where  God  never  has  been.  A  dreadful 
place,  madame  !  " 

Frances  laughed.  "  That  is  the  place  for 
me,"  she  said  to  Selo.  "  Take  me  there." 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  with  shrewd, 
friendly  eyes,  and  then  beckoned  Bauzy  aside. 

"Who  is  she?  She  has  the  bearing  of  a  great 
lady,  but  her  face  hurts  me.  What  harm  has 
come  to  her?  " 

"  How  do  I  know?  "said  Bauzy.  "Go  for 
your  boat.  The  sea  is  rising." 

Late  in  the  afternoon  M.  Selo  landed  his 
strange  passenger  upon  the  pebbly  beach  of 
the  accursed  island.  He  led  her  up  on  the 
rocks,  talking,  and  pointing  across  the  sea. 


1 64 


"  Beyond  is  the  Atlantic,  and  on  yonder 
headland  are  the  great  menhirs  of  Carnac — 
thirty  thousand  of  them,  brought  there  before 
Christ  was  born.  But  the  Evil  One  loves  this 
island  best  of  all  places.  It  has  in  it  the  mys 
tery  of  the  world.  Come,"  he  said,  in  an  awed 
voice.  "  It  is  here." 

He  crossed  to  the  hill,  stooped,  and  entered 
a  dark  cave  about  forty  feet  long,  which  was 
wholly  lined  with  huge  flat  rocks  carved  with 
countless  writhing  serpents.  As  Frances 
passed  they  seemed  to  stir  and  breathe  beside 
her,  at  her  feet,  overhead.  The  cave  opened 
into  a  sacrificial  chamber.  The  reptiles  grew 
gigantic  here,  and  crowded  closer.  Through 
some  rift  a  beam  of  melancholy  light  crept 
in  ;  a  smell  of  death  hung  in  the  thick,  un 
clean  air. 

Selo  pointed  to  a  stone  altar.  "  It  was 
there  they  killed  their  victims,"  he  whispered, 
and  began  to  pray  anxiously,  half-aloud. 
When  he  had  finished,  he  hurried  back,  beck 
oning  to  her  to  come  out. 

"  Go,"  she  said.     "  I  will  stay  here." 

"  Then  I  will  wait  outside.  This  is  no  place 
for  Christian  souls.  But  we  must  return  soon, 


165 


madame.  My  little  girl  will  be  watching  now 
for  me." 

When  he  was  gone  she  stood  by  the  altar. 
This  island  of  Gavr'  Inis  was  one  of  the  places 
to  which  she  and  George  had  long  ago  planned 
to  come.  She  remembered  the  very  day  on 
which  they  had  read  the  legend  that  on  this 
altar  men  before  the  Flood  had  sacrificed  to 
the  god  of  Murder. 

"  I  am  the  murderer  now,  and  George  knows 
it,"  she  said  quietly.  But  she  was  cold  and 
faint,  and  presently  began  to  tremble  weakly. 

She  went  out  of  the  cave  and  stood  on  the 
beach.  "  I  want  to  go  home,  George,"  she 
said  aloud.  "  I  want  to  be  Frances  Waldeaux 
again.  I'm  sure  I  didn't  know  it  was  in  me  to 
do  that  thing." 

There  was  no  answer.  She  was  alone  in  the 
great  space  of  sky  and  sea.  The  world  was  so 
big  and  empty,  and  she  alone  and  degraded 
in  it! 

"  I  never  shall  see  George  again.  He  will 
think  of  me  only  as  the  woman  who  killed  his 
wife,"  she  thought. 

She  went  on  blindly  toward  the  water,  and 
stood  there  a  long  time. 


i66 


Then,  in  the  strait  of  her  agony,  there  came 
to  Frances  Waldeaux,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  a  perception  that  there  was  help  for  her  in 
the  world,  outside  of  her  own  strength.  Her 
poor  tortured  wits  discerned  One,  more  real 
than  her  crime,  or  George,  or  the  woman  that 
she  had  killed.  It  was  an  old,  hackneyed 
story,  that  He  knew  every  man  and  woman  in 
the  world,  that  He  could  help  them.  She  had 
heard  it  often. 

Was  there  any  thing  in  it?  Could  He  help 
her? 

Slowly,  the  nervous'twitching  of  her  body 
quieted,  her  dulled  eyes  cleared  as  if  a  new 
power  of  sight  were  coming  to  them. 

After  a  long  time  she  heard  steps,  and  Selo 
calling.  She  rose. 

The  murder  was  known.  They  were  coming 
to  arrest  her. 

What  did  it  matter  ?  She  had  found 
help. 

Selo  came  up  excitedly. 

"  It  is  another  boat,  English  folk  also,  that 
comes  to  arrive." 

She  turned  and  waited. 

And   then,   coming    up    the    hill,  she   saw 


167 


George,  and  with  him — Lisa!  Lisa,  smiling 
as  she  talked. 

They  ran  to  meet  her  with  cries  of  amaze 
ment.  She  staggered  back  on  the  rock. 

"  You  are  not  dead  ?     Lisa " 

"  Dead  ?  Poor  lady !  "  catching  her  in  her 
arms.  "  Some  water,  George  !  It  is  her  head. 
She  has  been  too  much  alone." 

When  Frances  opened  her  eyes  she  was 
lying  on  the  grass,  her  children  kneeling  be 
side  her.  She  caught  Lisa's  arm  in  both 
hands  and  felt  it:  then  she  sat  up. 

"  I  must  tell  you  what  I  did — before  you 
speak  to  me." 

"  Not  now,"  said  Lisa.  "  You  are  not  well. 
I  am  going  to  be  your  nurse.  The  baby  has 
made  me  a  very  good  nurse,"  and  she  stooped 
again  over  Frances,  with  kind,  smiling  eyes. 

Selo  came  to  wile  George  up  to  the  mysteri 
ous  cave,  but  Lisa  impatiently  hurried  them  to 
the  beach.  "  Caves  and  serpent  worshippers 
truly  !  "  she  cried.  "  Why,  she  has  not  seen 
Jacques !  "  and  when,  in  the  boat,  George,  who 
was  greatly  alarmed,  tried  to  rouse  his  mother 
from  her  silent  stupor,  Lisa  said  gayly,  "  She 
will  be  herself  again  as  soon  as  she  sees  him." 


i68 


When  they  reached  Larmor  Baden,  she  de 
spatched  George  in  search  of  Colette  and  the 
child,  and  she  went  into  the  church.  It  was 
late,  and  the  village  women  sat  on  the  steps 
gossipping  in  the  slanting  sunlight.  There 
is  nothing  in  their  lives  but  work  and  the 
church ;  and  when,  each  day,  they  have  finished 
with  one  they  go  to  the  other. 

Frances  followed  her.  The  sombre  little 
church  was  vacant.  She  touched  Lisa  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  There  is  something  I  must  tell  you,"  she 
said.  "  You  would  not  let  me  touch  the  child, 
if  you  knew  it." 

She  stooped  and  spoke  a  few  sentences  in  a 
vehement  whisper,  and  then  leaned  back,  ex 
hausted,  against  the  wall. 

Lisa  drew  back.  Her  lips  were  white  with 
sudden  fright,  but  she  scanned  Mrs.  Wal- 
deaux's  face  keenly. 

"You  were  in  Vannes  last  night?  You 
tried My  God,  I  remember !  The  ti 
sane  tasted  queerly,  and  I  threw  it  out."  She 
walked  away  for  a  moment,  and  then  turning, 
said,  "  You  called  my  mother  a  vile  woman  once. 
But  she  would  not  have  done  that  thing  !  " 


169 


"No,"  said  Frances,  not  raising  her  head. 
"  No." 

Lisa  stood  looking  at  her  as  she  crouched 
against  the  wall.  The  fierce  scorn  slowly  died 
out  of  her  eyes.  She  was  a  coarse,  but  a  good- 
natured,  woman.  An  awful  presence,  too, 
walked  with  her  always  now,  step  by  step,  and 
in  that  dread  shadow  she  saw  the  things  of  life 
more  justly  than  we  do. 

She  took  Frances  by  the  hand  at  last. 
"You  were  not  quite  yourself,  I  think,"  she 
said  quietly.  "  I  have  pushed  you  too  hard. 
George  has  told  me  so  much  about  you !  If 
we  could  be  together  for  a  while,  perhaps  we 
should  love  each  other  a  little.  But  there  is 

no  time  now "  She  turned  hastily,  and 

threw  herself  down  before  a  crucifix. 

After  a  long  time  she  went  out  to  the  ves 
tibule,  where  she  found  Frances,  and  said, 
with  an  effort  to  be  cheerful  and  matter-of- 
fact,  "  Come,  now,  let  us  talk  like  reasonable 
people.  A  thing  is  coming  to  me  which  comes 
to  every-body.  I'm  not  one  to  whine.  But 
it's  the  child — I  don't  think  any  baby  ever 
was  as  much  to  a  woman  as  Jacques  is  to  me. 
I  suppose  God  does  not  think  I  am  fit  to 


170 


bring  him  up.  Sit  down  and  let  me  tell  you 
all  about  it." 

They  sat  on  the  steps,  talking  in  a  low  tone. 
Frances  cried,  but  Lisa's  eyes  were  quite  dry 
and  bright.  She  rose  at  last. 

"  You  see,  there  will  be  no  woman  to  care 
for  him,  if  you  do  not.  There  he  is  with 
Colette."  She  ran  down,  took  the  baby 
from  the  bonne,  and  laid  him  in  Frances's 
arms. 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  looked  down  at  him. 
"  George's  son,"  she  whispered,  "  George's 
boy!" 

"  He  is  very  like  George  and  you,"  Lisa 
answered.  "  He  is  a  Waldeaux." 

"  Yes,  I  see." 

She  held  him  close  to  her  breast  as  they 
drove  back  to  Vannes.  George  whistled  and 
sang  on  the  box.  He  was  very  light  of  heart 
to  have  her  with  him  again. 

He  looked  impatiently  at  an  ancient  vil 
lage  through  which  they  passed,  with  its 
towers,  and  peasants  in  strange  garbs,  like  the 
pictures  in  some  crusading  tale. 

"  Now  that  we  have  mother,  Lisa,"  he  said, 
"  we'll  go  straight  back  home.  I  am  tired  of 


171 


mediaeval  times.  I  must  get  to  work  for  this 
youngster." 

Lisa  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  "  I 
should  like  to  stay  in  Vannes  a  little  longer," 
she  said.  "  I  did  not  tell  you,  but — my 
mother  is  buried  there.  That  was  why  I 
came  ;  I  should  like  to  be  with  her." 

"Why,  of  course,  dear.  As  long  as  you 
like,"  he  said  affectionately. 

"  I  will  not  detain  you  long.  Perhaps  only 
a  week  or  two,"  she  said. 

He  nodded,  and  began  to  whistle  cheer 
fully  again.  Frances  looked  at  Lisa,  and 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  It  was  a  pitiful 
tragedy ! 

But  the  poor  girl  was  quite  right  not  to 
worry  George  until  the  last  moment.  She  was 
blocking  his  way — ruining  his  life,  and  God 
was  taking  her  away  so  that  she  could  no 
longer  harm  him. 

And  yet — poor  Lisa ! 

They  drove  on.  The  sun  warmed  the  crim 
son  fields,  and  the  birds  chirped,  and  this  was 
George's  child  creeping  close  to  her  breast. 
It  stirred  there  a  keen  pang  of  joy. 

Surely  He  had  forgiven  her. 


172 


A  month  later  a  group  of  passengers  in  deep 
mourning  stood  apart  on  the  deck  of  the  Paris 
as  she  left  the  dock  at  Liverpool.  It  was 
George  Waldeaux,  his  mother,  and  little 
Jacques  with  his  nurse.  Mrs.  Waldeaux  was 
looking  at  Clara  and  her  girls,  who  were  watch 
ing  her  from  the  dock.  They  had  come  to 
Vannes  when  Lisa  died,  and  had  taken  care  of 
her  and  the  baby  until  now.  Frances  had 
cried  at  leaving  them,  but  George  stood  with 
his  back  to  them  moodily,  looking  down  into 
the  black  water. 

"  It  seems  but  a  few  days  since  we  sailed 
from  New  York  on  the  Kaiser  Wilhclm"  he 
said,  "  and  yet  I  have  lived  out  all  my  life  in 
that  time." 

"All?  Is  there  nothing  left,  George?"  his 
mother  said  gently. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  you  are  always  a  good  com 
panion,  and  there  is  the  child "  He 

paused.  The  fierce  passions,  the  storms  of 
delight  and  pain  of  his  life  with  Lisa  rushed 
back  on  him.  "  I  will  work  for  others,  and 
wear  out  the  days  as  I  can,"  he  said.  "  But 
life  is  over  for  me.  The  story  is  told.  There 
are  only  blank  pages  now  to  the  end." 


173 


He  turned  his  dim  eyes  toward  the  French 
coast.  She  knew  that  they  saw  the  little 
bare  grave  on  the  hill  in  Vannes.  "  I  wish 
I  could  have  seen  something  green  growing 
on  it  before  I  left  her  there  alone ! "  he 
muttered. 

"  Her    mother's    grave    was    covered    with 

roses "  Frances  answered  quickly.     "  They 

will  creep  over  to  her.  She  is  not  alone, 
George.  I  am  glad  she  was  laid  by  her  mother. 
She  loved  her  dearly." 

"  Yes.  Better  than  any  thing  on  earth,"  he 
responded  gloomily. 

A  few  moments  later  the  ship  swung  heavily 
around. 

"  We  are  going ! "  Mrs.  Waldeaux  cried, 
waving  her  hand.  "  Won't  you  look  at  Clara 
and  Lucy,  George  ?  They  have  been  so  good 
to  us.  If  Lucy  had  been  my  own  child,  she 
could  not  have  been  kinder  to  me." 

Mr.  Waldeaux  turned  and  raised  his  crepe- 
bound  hat,  looking  at  Lucy  in  her  soft  gray 
gown  vaguely,  as  he  might  at  a  white  gull 
dropped  on  the  shore. 

"  I  suppose  I  never  shall  see  her  again,"  said 
his  mother.  "Clara  tells  me  she  is  besieged 


174 


by  lovers.  She  is  going  to  marry  a  German 
prince,  probably." 

"  That  would  be  a  pity,"  George  said,  with  a 
startled  glance  back  at  the  girl. 

"Good-by,  my  dear!"  Mrs.  Waldeaux 
leaned  over  the  bulwark.  "  She  is  beautiful  as 
an  angel !  Good-by,  Lucy !  God  bless  you  !  " 
she  sobbed,  kissing  her  hand. 

Mr.  Waldeaux  looked  steadily  at  Lucy. 
"  How  clean  she  is !  "  he  said. 

When  the  shore  was  gone  he  walked  down 
the  deck,  conscious  of  a  sudden  change  in  him 
self.  He  was  wakening  out  of  an  ugly  dream. 
The  sight  of  the  healthy  little  girl,  with  her 
dewy  freshness  and  blue  eyes,  full  of  affection 
and  common  sense,  cheered  and  heartened  him. 
He  did  not  know  what  was  doing  it,  but  he 
threw  up  his  head  and  walked  vigorously. 
The  sun  shone  and  the  cold  wind  swept  him 
out  into  a  dim  future  to  begin  a  new  life. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

GEORGE  WALDEAUX  took  his  mother  and 
boy  back  to  the  old  homestead  in  Delaware. 
They  arrived  at  night,  and  early  the  next 
morning  he  rowed  away  in  his  bateau  to  some 
of  his  old  haunts  in  the  woods  on  the  bay,  and 
was  seen  no  more  that  day. 

"  He  is  inconsolable ! "  his  mother  told 
some  of  her  old  neighbors  who  crowded  to 
welcome  her.  "  His  heart  is  in  that  grave  in 
Vannes." 

The  women  listened  in  surprise,  for  Frances 
was  not  in  the  habit  of  exploiting  her  emotions 
in  words. 

"  We  understood,"  said  one  of  them,  with  a 
sympathetic  shake  of  the  head,  "that  it  was 
a  pure  love  match.  Mrs.  George  Waldeaux, 
we  heard,  was  a  French  artist  of  remarkable 
beauty?" 

Frances  moved  uneasily.  "  I  never  thought 
her — but  I  can't  discuss  Lisa !  "  She  was  silent 
a  moment.  "  But  as  for  her  social  position  " 


176 


— she  drew  herself  up  stiffly,  fixing  cold  defiant 
eyes  on  her  questioner — "  as  for  her  social 
position,"  she  went  on  resolutely,  "  she  was  de 
scended  on  one  side  from  an  excellent  Ameri 
can  family,  and  on  the  other  from  one  of  the 
noblest  houses  in  Europe." 

When  they  were  gone  she  hugged  little 
Jacques  passionately  as  he  lay  on  her  lap. 
"  That  is  settled  for  you  !  "  she  said. 

When  George  came  back  in  the  evening,  he 
found  her  walking  with  the  boy  in  her  arms  on 
the  broad  piazzas. 

"  I  really  think  he  knows  that  he  has  come 
home,  George  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  See  how  he 
laughs  !  And  he  liked  the  dogs  and  horses  just 
as  Lisa  thought  he  would.  I  am  glad  it  is  such 
a  beautiful  home  for  him.  Look  at  that  slope 
to  the  bay !  There  is  no  nobler  park  in 
England  !  And  the  house  is  as  big  as  most  of 
their  palaces,  and  much  more  comfortable  !  " 

"Give  the  child  to  Colette,  mother,  and 
listen  to  me.  Now  that  I  have  settled  you 
and  him  here,  I  must  go  and  earn  your 
living." 

"  Yes." 

She  followed  him  into  the  hall. 


177 


"  I  leave  you  to-morrow.  There  is  no  time 
to  be  lost." 

"  You  are  going  back  to  art,  George  ?  " 

"  No  !     Never  !  " 

Frances  grew  pale.  She  thought  she  had 
torn  open  his  gaping  wound. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  remind  you  of — of " 

"  No,  it  isn't  that !  " 

He  scowled  at  the  fire.  Art  meant  for  him 
his  own  countless  daubs,  and  the  sickening 
smell  of  oily  paints  and  musk,  and  soiled  silk 
tea  gowns,  and  the  whole  slovenly,  disreput 
able  scramble  of  Bohemian  life  in  Paris. 

"  I  loathe  art ! "  he  said,  with  a  furious 
blow  at  the  smouldering  log  in  the  fireplace, 
as  if  he  struck  these  things  all  down  into  the 
ashes  with  it. 

"  Will  you  go  back  into  the  Church,  dear?" 
his  mother  ventured  timidly. 

"  Most  certainly,  no !  "  he  said  vehemently. 
"  Of  all  mean  frauds  the  perfunctory  priest  is 
the  meanest.  If  I  could  be  like  one  of  the  old 
holy  gospellers — then  indeed  !  " 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  began  to 
stride  up  and  down  the  long  hall,  his  head 
thrown  back,  his  chest  inflated. 

12 


178 


"  I  have  a  message  for  the  world,  mother." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  she  interrupted  eagerly. 

"But  I  must  deliver  it  in  my  own  way.  I 
have  lost  two  years.  I  am  going  to  put  in  big 
strokes  of  work  now.  In  the  next  two  years 
I  intend  to  take  my  proper  place  in  my 
own  country.  I  will  find  standing  room  for 
George  Waldeaux,"  with  a  complacent  smile. 
"And  in  the  meantime,  of  course,  I  must 
make  money  enough  to  support  you  and  the 
boy  handsomely.  So  you  see,  mother,"  he 
ended,  laughing,  "  I  have  no  time  to  lose." 

"  No,  George ! "  It  was  the  proudest 
moment  of  her  life.  How  heroic  and  gener 
ous  he  was ! 

She  filled  his  pocket-book  the  next  day, 
when  he  went  to  New  York  to  take  the  world 
by  the  throat.  It  was  really  not  George 
Waldeaux's  fault  that  she  filled  it. 

Nor  was  it  his  fault  that  during  the  next  two 
years  the  world  was  in  no  hurry  to  run  to  his 
feet,  either  to  learn  of  him,  or  to  bring  him  its 
bags  of  gold.  The  little  man  did  his  best ;  he 
put  his  "  message,"  as  he  called  it,  into  poems, 
into  essays,  into  a  novel.  Publishers  thanked 
him  effusively  for  the  pleasure  of  reading 


179 


them,  and — sent  them  back.  The  only  word 
of  his  which  reached  the  public  was  a  review 
of  the  work  of  a  successful  author.  It  was  so 
personal,  so  malignant,  that  George,  when  he 
read  it,  writhed  with  shame  and  humiliation. 
He  tore  the  paper  into  fragments. 

"  Am  I  so  envious  and  small  as  that ! 
Before  God,  no  words  of  mine  shall  ever  go  into 
print  again  !  "  he  said,  and  he  kept  his  word. 

He  came  down  every  month  or  two  to  his 
mother. 

"  Why  not  try  teaching,  George  ?  "  she  said 
anxiously.  "These  great  scholars  and  scien 
tific  men  have  places  and  reputations  which 
even  you  need  not  despise." 

He  laughed  bitterly.  "  I  tried  for  a  place 
as  tutor  in  a  third-class  school,  and  could  not 
pass  the  examinations.  I  know  nothing  accu 
rately.  Nothing." 

It  occurred  to  him  to  go  inter  politics  and 
help  reform  the  world  by  routing  a  certain 
Irish  boss.  He  made  a  speech  at  a  ward 
meeting,  and  broke  down  in  the  middle  of  it 
before  the  storm  of  gibes  and  hootings. 

"  What  was  the  matter?  "  he  asked  a  friend, 
whose  face  was  red  with  laughter. 


i8o 


"  My  dear  fellow,  you  shouldn't  lecture 
them  !  You're  not  the  parson.  They  resent 
your  air  of  enormous  superiority.  For 
Heaven's  sake,  don't  speak  again — in  this 
campaign." 

It  is  a  wretched  story.  There  is  no  need  of 
going  into  the  details.  There  was  no  room 
for  him.  He  tried  in  desperation  to  get  some 
foothold  in  business.  The  times  were  hard 
that  winter,  which  of  course  was  against  him. 
Besides,  his  critical,  haughty  air  naturally  did 
not  prepossess  employers  in  his  favor  when  he 
came  to  ask  for  a  job. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  year  the  man 
broke  down. 

"  The  work  of  the  world,"  he  told  Frances, 
"  belongs  to  specialists.  Even  a  bootblack 
knows  his  trade.  I  know  nothing.  I  can  do 
nothing.  I  am  a  mass  of  flabby  pretences." 

Every  morlth  she  filled  his  pocket-book. 
She  found  at  last  that  he  did  not  touch  the 
money.  He  sold  his  clothes  and  his  jewelry 
to  keep  himself  alive  while  he  tramped  the 
streets  of  New  York  looking  for  work.  He 
starved  himself  to  make  this  money  last.  His 
flesh  was  lead-colored  from  want  of  proper 


food,  and  he  staggered  from  weakness.  "  '  He 
that  will  not  work  neither  let  him  eat,'  "  he 
said  grimly. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Miss  Vance  came 
home.  Mrs.  Waldeaux  in  a  moment  of  weak 
ness  gave  her  a  hint  of  his  defeat. 

"  Is  the  world  blind,"  she  cried,  "  to  deny 
work  to  a  man  of  George's  capacity  ?  What 
does  it  mean?  " 

Clara  heard  of  George's  sufferings  with  equa 
nimity.  "  The  truth  is,"  she  said,  when  she 
told  the  story  to  Miss  Dunbar,  "  Frances 
brought  that  boy  up  to  believe  that  he  was  a 
Grand  Llama  among  men.  There  is  no  work 
for  Grand  Llamas  in  this  country,  and  when 
he  understands  that  he  is  made  of  very  ordi 
nary  clay  indeed,  he  will  probably  be  of  some 
use  in  the  world." 

Lucy  was  watering  her  roses.  "  It  is  a 
matter  of  indifference  to  me,"  she  said,  "  what 
the  people  of  New  York  think  of  Mr.  Wal 
deaux." 

Clara  looked  at  her  quickly.  "  I  do  not 
quite  catch  your  meaning  ?  "  she  said. 

But  Lucy  filled  her  can,  and  forgot  to 
answer. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

CLARA  had  brought  Miss  Dunbar  back  and 
established  her  in  her  own  house  near  Weir, 
under  the  care  of  a  deaf  widowed  aunt. 
Dunbar  Place  was  a  stately  colonial  house, 
set  in  a  large  demesne,  and  all  Kent  County 
waited  breathless  to  know  what  revelations  the 
heiress  would  make  to  it,  in  the  way  of  equi 
pages,  marqueterie  furniture,  or  Paris  gowns. 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  found  Lucy  one  day,  a  month 
after  her  arrival,  seated  at  her  sewing  on  the 
broad,  rose-covered  piazza,  looking  as  if  she 
never  had  left  it. 

"  Have  you  come  to  stay  now,  my  dear," 
she  said,  "  or  will  Prince  Wolfburgh " 

"  Oh,  that  is  an  old  story,"  interrupted  Clara. 
"  Lucy  handed  the  little  prince  over  to  Jean 
Hassard,  who  married  him  after  he  had  a  long 
fi^ht  with  her  father  about  her  dot.  Ke  won 

o 

the  dot,  but  Count  Odo  is  now  the  head  of 
the  house.  Jean,  I  hear,  is  in  Munich  fighting 
her  way  up  among  the  Herrschaft." 


i83 


"Jean  has  good  fighting  qualities,"  Lucy 
said.  "  She  will  win." 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  her  to-day,"  said  Miss 
Vance.  "  Here  it  is.  She  says, '  I  mean  to  re 
build  the  Schloss,  and  I  have  put  a  stop  to  the 
soap-boiling  business.  I  will  have  no  fumes 
of  scorching  fat  in  our  ancestral  halls.  Four 
of  the  princesses  live  with  us  here  in  the  flat. 
Gussy  Carson  from  Pond  City  is  staying  with 
me  now.  We  have  an  American  tea  every 
Wednesday.  Gus  receives  with  me.'  " 

"  Poor  princesses ! "  said  Lucy. 

Miss  Vance  folded  the  letter  with  a  com 
placent  nod.  "  I  am  glad  that  Jean  is  settled 
so  satisfactorily,"  she  said.  "  As  for  Lucy " 

No  one  answered.  Lucy  threaded  her 
needle. 

"  I  start  next  week  to  Chicago,  did  you 
know,  Frances?  The  Bixbys — two  orphan 
heiresses — wish  me  to  take  them  to  Australia, 
coming  back  by  India.  And  I  suppose,"  she 
said,  rising  impatiently,  "  if  I  were  to  stay  away 
forty  years  I  should  find  Lucy  when  I  came 
back,  with  white  hair  maybe,  but  sitting  calmly 
sewing,  not  caring  whether  there  was  a  man  in 
the  world  or  not !  " 


1 84 


Lucy  laughed,  but  did  not  even  blush. 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  presently  said  good-by, 
and  Clara  went  home  with  her  to  spend  the 
night.  Lucy  was  left  alone  upon  the  piazza. 
It  was  there  that  George  Waldeaux  saw  her 
again. 

This  had  been  the  hardest  day  of  his  life. 
He  rose  that  morning  telling  himself  with  an 
oath  that  he  would  earn  the  money  to  buy  his 
own  food  or  never  eat  again.  His  mother  had 
sent  him  a  cheque  by  post.  He  tore  it  up  and 
went  out  of  his  cheap  lodging-house  without 
breakfast.  There  was  a  queer  change  in  him — 
a  sudden  lofty  independence — a  sudden  loath 
ing  of  himself.  He  knew  now  that  it  was  not 
in  him  to  do  good  work  in  the  world,  but  at 
least  he  would  pay  his  own  way.  He  had  been 
a  mass  of  vanity  and  now  he  was  so  mean  in 
his  own  eyes  that  he  shrank  from  the  passers- 
by.  Perhaps  the  long  strain  had  damaged  the 
gray  matter  of  the  brain,  or  some  nervous 
centre — I  do  not  know  what  change  a  physi 
cian  would  have  found  in  him,  but  the  man 
was  changed. 

A  clerk  was  needed  in  a  provision  shop  on 


Green  Street  George  placed  himself  in  the 
line  of  dirty,  squalid  applicants.  The  day  was 
hot,  the  air  of  the  shop  was  foul  with  the 
smells  of  rotting  meat  and  vegetables.  He 
felt  himself  stagger  against  a  stall.  He  seemed 
to  be  asleep,  but  he  heard  the  butchers  laugh 
ing.  They  called  him  a  drunken  tramp,  and 
then  he  was  hurled  out  on  the  muddy  pave 
ment. 

"  Too  much  whiskey  for  this  time  o'  day ! " 
a  policeman  said,  hauling  him  to  his  feet. 
"  Move  along,  young  man ! " 

Whiskey?  That  was  what  he  wanted.  He 
turned  into  a  shop  and  bought  a  dram  with  his 
last  pennies.  It  made  him  comfortable  for  a 
few  hours,  then  he  began  to  cry  and  swear. 
George  Waldeaux  had  never  been  drunk  in  his 
life.  The  ascetic,  stainless  priest  in  him  stood 
off  and  looked  at  this  dog  of  the  gutter  with 
his  obscene  talk,  and  then  came  defeat  of  soul 
and  body. 

"I  give  up!"  he  said  quietly.  "I'll  never 
try  again." 

He  wandered  unconsciously  to  the  ferry  and, 
having  his  yearly  book  of  tickets  in  his  pocket, 
took  the  train  for  home  from  force  of  habit. 


186 


He  left  the  cars  at  a  station  several  miles  from 
Weir,  and  wandered  across  the  country.  Just 
at  sundown,  covered  with  mud  and  weak  from 
hunger  and  drunkenness,  he  crossed  the  lawn 
before  Lucy's  house  and,  looking  up,  saw  her. 

He  had  stumbled  into  a  world  of  peace  and 
purity !  A  soft  splendor  filled  the  sky  and  the 
bay  and  the  green  slopes,  with  their  clumps 
of  mighty  forest  trees.  The  air  was  full  of  the 
scents  of  flowers  and  the  good-night  song  of 
happy  birds.  And  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  lady 
of  the  great  domain,  under  her  climbing  rose 
vines,  sat  the  young,  fair  woman,  clad  in  some 
fleecy  white  garments,  her  head  bent,  her  blue 
eyes  fixed  on  the  distance — waiting. 

George  stopped,  sobered  by  a  sudden 
wrench  of  his  heart.  There  was  the  world  to 
which  he  belonged — there!  His  keen  eye 
noted  every  delicate  detail  of  her  beauty  and 
of  her  dress.  He  was  of  her  sort,  her  kind — 
he,  kicked  into  the  gutter  from  that  foul  shop 
as  a  tramp ! 

This  is  what  I  have  lost !  his  soul  cried  to 
him. 

He  had  not  as  yet  recognized  Lucy.  But 
now  she  saw  him,  and  with  a  little  inarticulate 


i87 


cry  like  that  of  a  bird,  she  flew  down  the  steps. 
"  Ah  !  It  is  you  !  "  she  said.  "  I  thought  you 
would  come  to  welcome  me  some  time ! " 

Her  voice  was  like  a  soft  breath ;  her  airy 
draperies  blew  against  him.  It  was  as  if  a 
wonderful,  beautiful  dream  were  folding  him 
in — and  in. 

He  drew  back.  "  I  am  not  fit,  Miss  Dunbar. 
I  did  not  know  you  were  here.  Why — look 
at  me!" 

"  Oh  !  You  are  ill !  You  have  had  an  acci 
dent  !  "  she  cried.  She  had  laid  her  little  white 
fingers  on  his  hand  and  now,  feeling  it  burn 
and  tremble  at  her  touch,  she  caught  it  in  both 
of  her  own  and  drew  him  into  the  house. 

"  Mr.  Waldeaux,"  she  said  to  a  servant  who 
appeared,  "has  had  a  fall.  Bring  him  water 
and  towels.  Take  care  of  him,  Stephen." 
She  spoke  quietly,  but  her  voice  trembled  with 
fright. 

The  man  led  George  to  an  inner  room. 

"  Were  you  thrown,  sir  ? "  he  asked  sym 
pathetically. 

George  hesitated.  "Yes,  I  was  thrown," 
he  said  grimly. 

He  made  himself  clean  in  angry  haste,  tak- 


188 


ing  the  whisk  from  the  man  and  brushing  off 
the  dry  mud  with  a  vicious  fury. 

Lucy  came  to  meet  him,  with  a  pale,  anxious 
smile.  "  You  must  not  go  without  a  cup  of 
hot  coffee,"  she  said,  leading  him  to  a  lounge 
in  the  hall.  It  was  very  sweet  to  be  treated 
like  a  sick  man  ! 

"And  God  knows  I  am  sick,  body  and 
soul !  "  he  thought,  sinking  down. 

Beside  the  lounge  was  a  little  table  with  one 
cover.  He  noted  with  keen  pleasure  the  deli 
cate  napery,  the  silver  candlesticks,  the  bowl 
of  roses,  with  which  the  substantial  meal  was 
set  out.  Lucy  waited  on  him  with  the  quick 
intelligence  of  a  trained  nurse.  She  scarcely 
spoke,  yet  her  every  motion,  as  she  served  him, 
seemed  a  caress.  When  he  had  finished  he 
began  to  stammer  out  his  thanks. 

"  No,"  she  said,  rising  decisively.  "  You  are 
too  weak  to  talk  to  me  to-night,  Mr.  Waldeaux. 
The  coupt  is  at  the  door.  John  will  drive 
you  home.  You  need  sleep  now." 

As  he  sank  down  into  the  luxurious  cushions 
and  drove  away  through  the  twilight,  he  saw 
the  little  white  figure  in  the  door,  and  the 
grave  wistful  face  looking  after  him. 


iSg 


"  Did  she  suspect !  "  he  suddenly  cried,  start 
ing  up. 

But  George  Waldeaux  never  knew  how 
much  Lucy  suspected  that  night. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Waldeaux's  mare  had  jogged 
on  leisurely,  dragging  her  mistress  and  Miss 
Vance  home  through  the  shady  country  lanes. 

"  Phebe  is  old,"  apologized  Frances.  "  She 
really  is  a  retired  car  horse." 

"  You  used  to  take  pride  in  your  horses, 
Frances  ?  " 

"Yes."  Mrs.  Waldeaux  added  after  a 
pause.  "  My  income  is  small.  Of  course 
George  soon  will  be  coining  money,  but  just 

now The  peach  crop  failed  this  year  too. 

And  I  save  every  dollar  for  Jack's  education." 

"  But  what  of  the  jokes  for  the  New  York 
paper  ?  They  were  profitable." 

"  Oh,  I  gave  them  up  long  ago."  She 
glanced  around  cautiously.  "  Never  speak  of 
that,  Clara.  I  would  not  have  George  know 
for  the  world  ;  I  never  would  hold  up  my  head 
if  he  knew  that  I  was  '  Quigg.'  " 

Miss  Vance  gave  a  contemptuous  sniff,  but 
Mrs.  Waldeaux  went  on  eagerly,  "  I  have  a 


igo 


plan !  You  know  that  swampy  tract  of  ours 
near  Lewes  ?  When  I  have  enough  money 
I'll  drain  it  and  lay  out  a  summer  resort — 
hotels — cottages.  I'll  develop  it  as  I  sell  the 
lots.  Oh,  Jack  shall  have  his  millions  yet  to 
do  great  work  in  the  world  !  "  her  eyes  spark 
ling.  "  Though  perhaps  he  may  choose  to 
strip  himself  of  everything  to  give  to  the  poor, 
like  Francis  d'Assisi !  That  would  be  best  of 
all.  It's  not  unlikely.  He  is  the  most  gener 
ous  boy ! " 

"  Stuff !  "  said  Miss  Vance.  "  St.  Francis, 
indeed  !  I  observe,  by  the  way,  that  he  crosses 
himself  after  his  meals.  Are  you  making  a 
Romanist  of  the  child  ?  And  you  speak 
French  to  him,  too  ?  " 

Mrs.  Waldeaux's  color  rose.  "  His  mother 
was  French  and  Catholic,"  she  said.  "  I  will 
not  have  Lisa  forgotten." 

They  went  on  in  silence.  Miss  Vance  was 
lost  in  thought.  Was  George  Waldeaux 
equally  eager  to  keep  his  wife's  memory  alive  ? 
Now  that  the  conceit  had  been  beaten  out  of 
him,  he  would  not  make  a  bad  husband.  And 
her  child  Lucy  had  always — esteemed  him 
highly. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  next  day  was  Sunday.  George  jumped 
out  of  bed  with  the  dawn.  He  whistled  and 
sang  scraps  of  songs  as  he  took  his  bath.  The 
sun  shone.  What  a  full,  happy  world  it  was, 
anyhow !  And  he  had  given  up  the  game  last 
night  ?  Why,  life  was  just  beginning  for  him  ! 
He  was  nothing  but  a  boy — not  yet  thirty. 
He  would  make  a  big  success  soon,  and  then 
try  to  win — to  win He  stopped,  breath 
less,  looking  into  the  distance,  and  his  eyes 
slowly  grew  wet  with  passion  and  longing. 

He  left  the  house  and  struck  across  the 
country  through  the  woodland  and  farms. 
He  did  not  know  why  he  went — he  had  to  go. 
When  he  reached  the  Dunbar  woods,  he  stood 
in  the  thicket  for  hours,  watching  the  house. 
She  came  out  at  last  and  sat  down  on  the 
steps  to  play  with  the  dog.  Last  night  in  her 
white,  delicate  beauty  she  had  not  seemed  real 
— she  was  far  off,  like  an  angel  coming  down 
into  his  depths  of  misery. 


I92 


But  to-day  she  sat  on  the  steps  in  her  pretty 
blue  gown,  and  laughed  and  rolled  Tramp 
over,  and  sung  snatches  of  songs,  and  was 
nothing  but  a  foolish  girl.  For  so  many  years 
he  had  been  thinking  of  work  and  money- 
making  and  bosses.  All  of  that  mean  drudgery 
fell  out  of  sight  now.  He  was  a  man,  young, 
alone,  on  fire  with  hope  and  passion.  His 
share  of  life  had  been  mean  and  pinched  ;  yon 
der  was  youth  and  gladness  and  tranquillity. 
The  world  was  empty,  save  for  themselves. 
He  was  here,  and  there  was  the  one  woman  in 
it — the  one  woman. 

He  looked  at  his  tanned,  rough  fingers.  Last 
night  she  had  folded  them  in  her  two  soft 
little  hands,  and  drawn  him  on — on  into  home  ! 

He  would  go  up  to  her  now  and  tell  her 

George  pushed  aside  the  bushes,  but  at  that 
moment  Lucy  rose  and  went  into  the  house. 
After  a  moment  he  crossed  the  lawn  and  sat 
down  on  the  piazza,  calling  the  dog  to  him. 
She  would  come  back  soon.  Tramp's  head 
rested  on  his  knee  as  he  stroked  it.  It  was 
here  her  hand  had  touched  it — and  here 

The  scent  of  roses  was  heavy  in  the  sun 
shine,  the  bees  hummed ;  he  sat  there  in  a 


I93 


hazy  dream,  waiting  for  the  door  to  open  and 
the  joy  of  his  life  to  begin. 

He  was  dragged  roughly  enough  out  of  his 
dream. 

Miss  Dunbar's  landau  drove  to  the  door  to 
take  her  to  church.  George  looked  up,  care 
lessly  noting  how  quiet  and  perfectly  appointed 
it  was,  from  the  brown  liveries  of  the  negro 
coachman  and  footman  to  the  trappings  on  the 
black  ponies.  There  were  no  horses  of  such 
high  breed  in  Delaware.  He  stood  up  sud 
denly,  his  jaws  pale  as  if  he  had  been  struck. 
What  money  there  was  in  it !  He  had  for 
gotten.  She  was  a  great  heiress. 

She  came  out  at  the  moment.  He  scanned 
her  fiercely,  the  plain,  costly  gown,  the  ruby 
blazing  on  her  ungloved  hand.  Then  he 
glanced  down  at  his  own  shabby  Sunday  suit. 
She  was  the  richest  woman  in  Delaware,  and 
he  had  not  a  dollar  in  his  pocket,  and  no  way 
to  earn  one. 

He  went  up  to  her,  courteously  took  her 
hand  when  she  held  it  out,  blushing  and  dim 
pling,  bowed  to  her  aunt,  saying  that  he  had 
merely  walked  over  to  put  her  into  her  car 
riage,  and,  having  shut  the  door,  looked  after 
13 


IQ4 


them,  hat  in  hand,  smiling  when  she  glanced 
shyly  back  at  him. 

Then  he  laughed  loudly.  If  he  had  the 
salary  that  she  paid  her  negro  driver  he  would 
be  lucky !  And  he  had  meant  to  marry  her. 
He  laughed  again  and  took  his  way  homeward. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

His  mother  was  waiting  to  give  George  his 
breakfast.  Whether  he  chose  to  lie  in  bed 
until  noon  or  to  walk  twenty  miles  at  dawn, 
she  smiled  a  joyful  approval.  But  neither  the 
crisp  toast,  nor  the  fried  chicken,  nor  any  of 
her  funny  stories,  would  penetrate  the  black 
ness  of  his  gloom. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way !  "  she  said  ;  "  here  is  a 
letter  that  came  by  last  night's  mail.  I  forgot 
to  give  it  to  you." 

He  glanced  at  the  envelope.  "  Great 
Heavens !  It  is  life  and  death  to  me,  and  you 
forget  it  to  tell  Jack's  pert  sayings !  "  He 
read  the  letter  and  threw  it  down. 

"  What  is  it,  George  ?  "  she  asked  humbly. 

"  Burnett  &  Hoyle  offer  me  a  place  in  their 
house." 

"  Mr.  Hoyle  is  an  old  friend  of  mine.  I 
wrote  to  him.  What  is  the  salary,  George  ?  " 

"  Forty  dollars  a  week.  I  could  earn  more 
as  a  coachman — for  some  rich  heiress." 


"  But  George  dear It  would  be  a  be 
ginning.  They  are  brokers,  and  there  are  so 
many  short  cuts  to  fortune  in  that  business ! 
Do  try  it,  my  son." 

"  Of  course  I'll  try  it.  Do  you  think  I'm  a 
fool?  It  will  keep  me  from  starving.  But  I 
want  something  else  in  life  than  to  be  kept 
from  starving,  mother." 

Fie  stretched  out  his  arms  with  a  groan,  and 
walked  to  the  window.  She  followed  him  with 
wretched,  comprehending  eyes.  Why  did  not 
Lucy  give  him  her  fortune  ?  Any  woman 
would  be  honored  who  could  give  George  her 
fortune. 

"  I  always  have  heard  that  brokers  know  the 
short  cuts  to  wealth,"  she  said  calmly.  "  You 
go  on  the  Street  some  day,  and  come  back  a 
millionaire." 

"  That  is  a  woman's  idea  of  business.  In 
stead,  I  will  sit  on  a  high  stool  and  drudge  all 
day,  and  on  Saturday  get  my  wages,  and  after 
three  or  four  years  I'll  make  a  fight  for  ten 
dollars  more  a  week,  and  thank  God  if  I  get  it. 
*  A  short  cut  to  fortune  ! '  " 

Mrs.  Waldeaux  carefully  averted  her  eyes 
from  him.  "You  may  marry,"  she  said,  "  and 


I97 


it  may  happen  that  your  wife  also  will  have 
some  little  income " 

"  Mother !  Look  at  me  ! "  he  interrupted 
her  sternly.  "  I  will  never  be  dependent  on 
my  wife,  so  help  me  God  !  " 

"  No,  George,  no !  Of  course  not.  Don't 
speak  so  loud.  Only,  I  thought  if  she  had  a 
small  sum  of  her  own,  she  would  feel  more 
comfortable,  that's  all." 

In  spite  of  his  ill  temper  George  threw  him 
self  into  his  work  with  zeal.  After  a  couple 
of  months  he  came  home  for  a  day.  He  was 
dressed  with  the  quiet  elegance  which  once 
had  been  so  important  in  his  eyes. 

His  mother  noted  it  shrewdly.  "  A  man  lias 
more  courage  to  face  life,  decently  clothed," 
she  said  to  herself. 

He  did  not  come  again  until  winter.  Lucy 
happened  to  be  spending  the  day  with  Mrs. 
Waldeaux.  There  were  no  liveried  servants, 
no  priceless  rings,  no  Worth  gown  in  sight. 
She  was  just  the  shy,  foolish  girl  whom  he  had 
once  for  an  hour  looked  upon  as  his  wife. 
George  talked  about  Wall  Street  to  her,  being 
now  wise  as  to  stocks ;  took  her  out  sleighing, 


I98 


and  when  in  the  evening  she  took  Jack  in  her 
arms  and  sang  him  to  sleep,  sat  listening  with 
his  head  buried  in  his  hands.  Mrs.  Waldeaux 
carried  the  boy  up  to  bed,  and  Lucy  and 
George  were  left  alone.  They  talked  long  and 
earnestly. 

"  She  consulted  me  about  her  affairs,"  he 
said,  after  she  was  gone,  his  eyes  shining. 

"  I  am  afraid  she  does  not  understand  busi 
ness  !  "  Mrs.  Waldeaux  replied  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  like  a  woman !  That  is,  not  at  all. 
Her  whole  property  is  in  the  hands  of  The 
Consolidated  Good  Faith  Companies.  I  re 
minded  her  of  the  old  adage,  '  Never  put  all  of 
your  eggs  into  one  basket.'  " 

"  But  that  is  so  sound  a  basket,  George  !  " 

"Yes.     It  is  thought  so,"  with  a  shrug. 

"  Poor  child !  She  needs  a  guardian  to 
advise  her." 

Waldeaux's  countenance  grew  black.  "  She 
should  employ  an  attorney.  It  certainly  will 
never  be  my  duty  to  advise  Miss  Dunbar,"  he 
retorted  irritably. 

George  showed  himself  shrewd  and  able  in 
his  work.  Mr.  Hoyle  was  a  powerful  backer. 


199 


Before  spring  his  salary  was  doubled.  But 
what  was  that?  The  gulf  between  him  and 
the  great  heiress  gaped,  impassable. 

Lucy  spent  much  time  with  her  old  friend, 
and  Frances  at  last  broke  the  silence  concern 
ing  him. 

"  The  boy  never  before  knew  what  love  was. 
And  it  is  you  that  he  loves,  child." 

"  He  has  not  told  me  so,"  said  Lucy 
coldly. 

"  No.  And  never  will.  It  is  your  wealth 
that  makes  him  dumb.  I  wish  it  was  gone," 
said  Frances  earnestly.  "  Gone.  You  would 
be  so  happy.  What  is  money  compared  to 
being " 

"  George's  wife?"  Lucy  laughed. 

"  Yes.  George's  wife.  I  know  what  he  is 
worth,"  his  mother  said  boldly.  "You  might 
give  it  away  ?  "  looking  eagerly  in  the  girl's 
face.  "  In  charity." 

"  I  might  do  so,"  said  Miss  Dunbar  tran 
quilly. 

One  morning  in  April  Mrs.  Waldeaux  saw 
George  coming  up  from  the  station.  She  ran 
to  meet  him. 


200 


He  was  pale  and  breathless  with  excite 
ment.  "  What  is  it  ?  What  has  happened  ?  " 
she  cried. 

"Hush — h!  Come  in.  Shut  the  door.  No 
one  must  hear.  The  Consolidated  Companies 
have  failed.  They  have  robbed  their  de 
positors." 

"  Well,  George  ?  What  have  we Oh, 

Lucy  !  " 

"  Yes,  Lucy !  She  is  ruined  !  She  has 
nothing.  It  was  all  there."  He  paced  up 
and  down,  hoarse  with  agitation  and  triumph. 
"  She  mustn't  know  it,  mother,  until  she  is  safe 
in  another  home." 

"  Another  home  ?  " 

"  Oh,  surely  you  understand  !  Here — if  she 
will  come.  Poor  little  girl !  She  has  not  a 
dollar !  I  am  getting  a  big  salary.  I  can  work 
for  you  all.  My  God  !  I  will  have  her  at 

last  !  Unless Perhaps  she  won't  come ! 

Mother,  do  you  think  she  will  come  ?  "  He 
caught  her  arm,  his  jaws  twitched,  the  tears 
stood  in  his  eyes,  as  when  he  used  to  come  to 
her  with  his  boyish  troubles. 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?"  said  Frances.  "  Go  and 
ask  her." 


CHAPTER  XX 

IN  July  Miss  Vance  returned  unexpectedly. 
Her  charges  had  tired  of  travel,  and  turned 
their  backs  upon  India.  She  dropped  them 
in  Chicago,  and  came  to  Weir  for  rest.  The 
evening  of  her  arrival  she  strolled  with 
Frances  through  the  park,  listening  to  the 
story  of  George's  sudden  wooing,  and  the 
quiet,  hurried  wedding. 

"  It  had  to  be  quiet  and  hurried,"  said  Mrs. 
Waldeaux,  "  in  order  to  keep  her  ignorant  of 
her  change  of  fortune.  He  took  her  to  the 
Virginia  mountains,  so  that  no  newspapers 
could  reach  her.  They  are  coming  to-morrow. 
It  won't  trouble  her  to  hear  that  her  money 
is  gone  when  she  is  here  with  us  all,  at  home. 
As  for  me,"  she  went  on  excitedly,  "  I  am  be 
ginning  to  advertise  the  summer  resort.  I 
must  put  my  hand  to  the  plough.  I  don't 
mean  that  she  shall  miss  any  comfort  or  lux 
ury  as  George's  wife." 

Miss  Vance  looked  at  her.     "  Frances,  give 


202 


up  your  planning  and  working.  Let  George 
work  for  you  and  his  wife,"  she  said  curtly. 
"  It  is  time  for  you  to  stop  and  rest." 

"  And  why  should  I  stop  and  rest,  Clara  ?  " 
said  Frances,  amazed. 

"  Surely  you  know,  dear.  You  are  not  as 
young  as  you  once  were.  Your  eyes  are  weak, 
and  your  hearing  is  a  little  dulled,  and " 

Frances  threw  out  her  hand  eagerly.  "  You 
think  I  am  growing  old  !  It  is  only  my  eyes 
and  ears  that  are  wearing  out.  /  am  not  deaf 
nor  blind,"  she  said  earnestly.  "  /  am  not  old. 
I  find  more  fun  and  flavor  in  life  now  than  I 
did  at  sixteen.  If  I  live  to  be  seventy,  or  a 
hundred,  I  shall  be  the  same  Frances  Wal- 
deaux  still." 

Clara  gave  an  annoyed  shrug.  "  But  really, 
/  make  the  thought  of  death  my  constant 
companion.  And  you  are  older  than  I. 

"  '  After  the  busy  day 

Comes  the  calm  sleep  of  night,  ' >: 

she  quoted,  with  a  sententious  sigh. 

"  Calm  and  sleep  do  not  appear  to  me  to  be 
the  highest  conditions  of  life.  No  !  I  will  not 
be  set  aside,  even  when  I  am  dead,  like  a 


203 


burned-out  candle ! "  The  indignant  tears 
stood  in  her  eyes.  "  Why,  even  in  that  other 
world  I  shall  not  be  a  barren  stock,  thank 
God  !  I  have  given  a  family  to  mankind.  To 
watch  a  long  line  of  your  descendants  at  work, 
to  see  in  them  your  own  thoughts  and  your 
own  soul  reaching  out,  live  powers  through  all 
eternity — I  often  think  of  it.  That  will  be — 
not  calm  nor  sleep." 

Miss  Vance  touched  Mrs.  Waldeaux's  arm 
affectionately.  "  What  a  queer  idea,  Frances. 
Well,  I  never  argue,  you  know.  Drop  in  the 
harness,  if  you  choose.  Let  us  go  in  now. 
It  is  chilly." 

The  older  woman  looked  after  her,  and 
smiled  good-humoredly.  After  a  moment 
she  raised  her  hand,  examining  it  attentively. 
Her  hand  had  been  very  beautiful  in  shape, 
white  and  dimpled,  and  she  had  been  vain 
enough  to  wear  fine  rings.  Now  it  was  yellow 
and  wrinkled.  The  great  emerald  looked  like 
a  bit  of  glass  upon  it. 

"Yes,  I  see,"  she  said,  with  a  miserable 
little  laugh,  and  then  stood  looking  out  into 
the  far  distance.  "  But  /  am  not  growing  old." 
She  spoke  aloud,  as  if  to  one  who  stood  apart 


204 


with  her  and  could  understand.  "  Even  out 
in  that  other  world  I  shall  not  be  only  a 
mother.  I  shall  be  me.  Me  !  "  touching  her 
breast.  "After  a  million  of  years — it  will 
still  be  me." 

There  stirred  within  the  lean  body  and 
rheumatic  limbs  depths  of  unused  power,  of 
thought,  of  love  and  passion,  and,  deeper  than 
all,  awful  possibilities  of  change. 

"  I  have  it  in  me  still  to  be  worse  than  a 
murderer,"  she  thought,  with  whitening  face. 

She  stood  a  long  time,  alone.  A  strange 
content  and  light  came  slowly  into  her  face. 
"  Come  what  will,  I  shall  never  be  left  to 
myself  again,"  she  said  at  last,  speaking  to  a 
Friend  whom  she  had  found  long  ago. 

Then  she  went  in  search  of  the  boy. 
"  Come,  Jack,"  she  said  cheerfully,  "  there 
are  busy  days  before  us." 

George  and  Lucy  that  evening  reached 
Dover,  prettiest  of  American  towns.  They 
strolled  down  the  shaded  street  out  into  a 
quiet  country  lane.  Lucy  sat  down  upon  a 
fallen  tree,  and  George  threw  himself  upon  the 
grass  beside  her. 


205 


"  To-morrow  we  shall  be  at  home,"  she  said, 
pushing  his  hair  back.  "  Do  you  know  that 
your  profile  is  absolutely  Greek  ?"  Her  eyes 
half  closed  critically.  "Yes,  we  shall  be  at 
home  about  eleven  o'clock.  I  wrote  to 
Stephen  to  order  all  the  dishes  that  you 
like  for  luncheon.  Your  mother  and  Jack 
are  coming.  It  will  be  such  a  gay,  happy 
day ! " 

He  took  her  hand.  He  would  tell  her 
now.  It  would  not  distress  her.  The  money 
weighed  for  nothing  in  her  life.  He  was  her 
world  ;  he  knew  that. 

"  Lucy !  "  he  said. 

She  turned,  startled  at  his  grave  tone.  The 
color  rose  in  her  delicate  little  face,  and  there 
was  a  keen  flash  of  intelligence  in  her  blue 
eyes.  It  vanished,  and  they  were  only  blue 
and  innocent. 

"  Lucy,  would  you  be  willing  to  come  to  my 
house?  To  take  it  for  home?  To  be  a  poor 
man's  wife,  there  ?  God  knows  I'll  try  to 
make  you  happy  in  it." 

"  No,"  she  said  gently.  "  That  is  your 
mother's  home.  She  has  made  it.  It  is  not 
fair  to  bring  young  queen  bees  into  the  old 


206 


queen's  hive.  We  will  live  at  your  house, 
Dunbar  Place,  George." 

"It  is  not  mine  nor  yours!"  George  broke 
out.  "  Oh,  my  darling,  I  have  hidden  some 
thing  from  you.  It  is  all  gone.  Your  prop 
erty,  income,  every  thing!  The  Consolidated 
Companies  failed.  Their  depositors  are 
ruined." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Lucy,  brushing  a  fallen 
leaf  from  her  gown.  "  But  they  had  no  con 
trol  over  my  affairs.  I  withdrew  them  from 
their  management  in  February." 

George  started  up.  "  Then  you — you  are  a 
great  heiress  still  ?  " 

"  No."  She  rose,  holding  out  her  hands, 
laughing.  "  My  husband,  I  believe,  is  a  rich 
man,  and  I  shall  have  what  he  gives  me." 

But  he  did  not  hear  her.  He  walked 
away  down  the  road,  shaken  by  a  dumb  fury. 
He  had  been  tricked !  Who  had  tricked 
him? 

Then  he  heard  a  miserable  sob  and  turned. 
Great  God  !  Was  any  thing  on  earth  so  dear 
as  that  little  woman  standing  there  ?  She  was 
crying !  Had  he  struck  her  ?  He  was  a  brute. 
What  had  he  done  ? 


207 


He  ran  to  her,  and  taking  her  outstretched 
hands,  kissed  them  passionately. 

"  They  are  mine — mine  ! "  he  whispered,  and 
knew  nothing  beyond. 

They  walked  together  like  two  happy  chil 
dren  down  the  shady  lane  toward  the  golden 
sunset.  The  money  was  forgotten. 


THE  END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


15Sep'538W 
SEP!  2 1953  LU 


FEB  2  4=  1966  3  8 
1939 
APR    5196770 


'67 


JUN  1 0 1985 


JUN  22  19' 


0 


JUL  1  0 
CIRCUUT/ON  OEPT, 


LD  21-100m-7,'52(A2528sl6)476 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


GENERAL  LIBRARY -U.C.  BERKELEY 


6000832155 


